That it did not remember at all what worms it bore.
At night we lit a fire
And round about it sand:
Fire, lovely fire, do not pity the logs
Fire, lovely fire, do not turn to ash
Fire, lovely fire, burn us, tell us of life.
We tell of life, we take it by the hands
We look into its eyes and it returns our look
And if this which makes us drunk is a magnet, we know it
And if this which gives us pain is bad, we have felt it
We tell of life, we go ahead
And say farewell to its birds, which are migrating.
We are of a good generation.
“All Day Long We Walked in the Fields” by Odysseas Elytis.
Sprig of pear blossom against the Midwestern sky.
O stormy, stormy world,
The days you were not swirled
Around with mist and cloud,
Or wrapped as in a shroud,
And the sun’s brilliant ball
Was not in part or all
Obscured from mortal view–
Were days so very few
I can but wonder whence
I get the lasting sense
Of so much warmth and light.
If my mistrust is right
It may be altogether
From one day’s perfect weather,
When starting clear at dawn
The day swept clearly on
To finish clear at eve.
I verily believe
My fair impression may
Be all from that one day
No shadow crossed but ours
As through its blazing flowers
We went from house to wood
For change of solitude.
“Happiness Makes Up In Height For What It lacks in Length” by Robert Frost.
Original cloud photography posted at BrianPaulsonPhoto.
Sometimes out walking, on a country road
or in a quiet green forest,
you hear scraps of voices, perhaps they’re calling you,