Bridge

The youth gets together his materials to build a bridge to the moon, or, perchance, a palace or temple on the earth, and, at length, the middle-aged man concludes to build a woodshed with them.

~ Henry David Thoreau

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Morningtide

Early morning by the pond

What is there beyond knowing that keeps
calling to me? I can’t
turn in any direction
but it’s there. I don’t mean
the leaves’ grip and shine or even the thrush’s
silk song, but the far-off
fires, for example,
of the stars, heaven’s slowly turning
theater of light or the wind
playful with its breath;
or time that’s always rushing forward,
or standing still
in the same – what shall I say –
moment.
What I know
I could put into a pack
as if it were bread and cheese, and carry it
on one shoulder,
important and honorable, but so small!
While everything else continues, unexplained
and unexplainable. How wonderful it is
to follow a thought quietly
to its logical end.
I have done this a few times.
But mostly I just stand in the dark field,
in the middle of the world, breathing
in and out. Life so far doesn’t have any other name
but breath and light, wind and rain.
If there’s a temple, I haven’t found it yet.
I simply go on drifting, in the heaven of the grass
and the weeds.

~ Mary Oliver, New and Selected Poems Volume Two

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Peregrination

I took a walk around the pond this morning.  The weather was beautiful at the time.  The early clouds had been blown away by the gentle breeze and the sunlight made it feel relatively warm for a 40 degree morning.  Clouds have since regathered and rain is expected this evening.  Rain is good.  The earth in this area needs it.

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Ten thousand flowers

Ten thousand flowers in the spring, the moon
in autumn,
A cool breeze in summer, snow in winter —
If your mind is not clouded by unnecessary
things,
this is the best season of your life.

~ Chinese poem

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Sunday saunter

Our truest life is when we are in dreams awake.

~ Henry David Thoreau

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Beads

(138:  Beads at a gravesite.  Photo © 2009 by Robin)

Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.

~ Henry David Thoreau

I suppose that might be true for some people, but most of the people I know seem to be making sure they sing loud and long and as well as they can.

I would think that, in some way, living your life without having sung your song would be a haunted life, a life haunted by the what-if’s and might-have-been’s.


Floating

sas

(076:  Floating in silky water.  Photo © 2009 by Robin)

Time is but a stream I go a-fishing in.  I drink at it, but when I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is.  Its thin current slides away but eternity remains.

~ Henry David Thoreau

The music.  Because it’s been a while.