One of my favorite Fall poems!
On fields o’er which the reaper’s hand has pass’d
Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun,
My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind
And of such fineness as October airs,
There after harvest could I glean my life
A richer harvest reaping without toil,
And weaving gorgeous fancies at my will
In subtler webs than finest summer haze.
by Henry David Thoreau
I LOVE childrens’ literature. I’m volunteering at my daughter’s school in the library for a few hours each week. Not only does it give me a fabulous oportunity to actually BE a fly on the wall, but I get to look through all the childrens’ books as I reshelf them. I collect “all things Alice,” and all my favorite books are really written for children… I love the classic literature written for wee ones. But… I tell you, reading though story books is so wonderfully refreshing. It takes but a minute, and leaves me feeling relaxed, refreshed, and transported. There are some amazing illustrators of kids books out there as well. I read to my little ones constantly, but I must remember from time to time to just sit quietly by myself and read a few. My newest favorite is called Child of Faerie, Child of Earth, written by Jane Yolen and illusrted by Jane Dyer… here’s a taste…
“He was a child of faerie folk,
A child of sky and air,
And she was a child of humankind,
Of earth and toil and care.
They met in the dusk of Hallow’s Eve,
When widows grieve
In widow’s weave.
They met in the dark of Hallow’s Eve,
She had flowers in her hair.”
you can read more about this book by clicking the following link:
“They will see us waving from such great heights,
‘Come down now,’ They’ll say.
But everything looks perfect from far away…
‘Come down now.’
But we’ll stay………”
That little snippet is from the fabulous band, “The Postal Service.” Oddly enough, my 14 year old son and I have a few bands in our collective favorites list that overlap! How wonderful is that? No arguing about what music will be played on car trips! While he prefers the original “indie-techno” recording by the Postal Service… I’m kinda partial to the version recorded by Iron and Wine. It’s a much slower, more folksy, acoustical rendition…. Anyway, it’s a great song!
Oh… and these are my perfect lilacs. I snapped this photo this morning while laying flat on my back in the grass! Blue skies above today.
The daffodils have bloomed, which means that Spring is here for me! And soon will come the lilacs and apple blossoms… each in their own turn and time.
I am fond of the last stanza of Wordsworth’s poem, “Daffodils.”
For oft when on my couch I lie,
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the Daffodils.
Out of Wonder World I think you come;
For in your eyes the wonder comes with you.
The stars are the windows of Heaven,
And sometimes I think you peep through.
Oh, little girl, tell us do the Flowers
Tell you secrets when they find you all alone?
Or the Birds and Butterflies whisper
Of things to us unknown?
Or do angel voices speak to you softly,
When we only hear a little wind sigh;
And the peaceful dew of Heaven fall upon you
When we only see a white cloud passing by?
My Mother read Kate Greenaway to me quite often when I was a child, and this particular verse has stuck with me though my adult years. Ms. Greenaway and I tend to see things the same way…
“Living in that childish wonder is a most beautiful feeling – I can so well remember it. There was always something more – behind and beyond everything – to me, the golden spectacles were very, very big.” ~ Kate Greenaway
I think that many of us remember it… like it was yesterday and hold ever so tightly to remembrances of that experience. When I remove all the clutter from my mind, it’s ever so easy to see things that way again.
You can read more about Kate Greenaway… a Victorian era illustrator and writer for children by clicking here…. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kate_Greenaway
White are the far-off plains, and white
The fading forests grow;
The wind dies out along the height,
And denser still the snow,
A gathering weight on roof and tree,
Falls down scarce audibly.
The road before me smoothes and fills
Apace, and all about
The fences dwindle, and the hills
Are blotted slowly out;
The naked trees loom spectrally
Into the dim white sky.
The meadows and far-sheeted streams
Lie still without a sound;
Like some soft minister of dreams
The snow-fall hoods me round;
In wood and water, earth and air,
A silence everywhere.
Save when at lonely intervals
Some farmer’s sleigh urged on,
With rustling runners and sharp bells,
Swings by me and is gone;
Or from the empty waste I hear
A sound remote and clear;
The barking of a dog, or call
To cattle, sharply pealed,
Borne echoing from some wayside stall
Or barnyard far afield;
Then all is silent, and the snow
Falls, settling soft and slow.
The evening deepens, and the gray
Folds closer earth and sky;
The world seems shrouded far away;
Its noises sleep, and I
As secret as yon buried stream,
Plod dumbly on, and dream.