Before the ice is in the pools —
Before the skaters go,
Or any cheek at nightfall
Is tarnished by the snow —
Before the fields have finished —
Before the Christmas tree,
Wonder opon wonder —
Will arrive to me!
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #46)
Yesterday we went to a winter craft market at the botanical garden and of course I couldn’t resist getting a few pictures outside. It finally feels like winter here, with low temperatures some mornings in the 20s. But it was a warm afternoon and it felt good strolling around, even if a host of white-throated sparrows foraging in the brush wouldn’t come out for a picture!
I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape — the loneliness of it — the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it — the whole story doesn’t show.
~ Andrew Wyeth
(LIFE, May 14, 1965, “Andrew Wyeth: An Interview”)
Winter under cultivation
Is as arable as Spring
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1720)
The Winter, most commonly, is so mild, that it looks like an Autumn, being now and then attended with clear and thin North-West Winds, that are sharp enough to regulate English Constitutions.
~ John Lawson
(A New Voyage to Carolina, 1709)
Lots of folks are rushing around getting ready for the holidays, but I like to stay quiet this time of year, snuggling under my wool throw with a good book. I’ve started reading Clover Garden: A Carolinian’s Piedmont Memoir by Bland Simpson. The author lives not too far from us and I’m enjoying reading about the natural history of the local area.
November ends. I come across a poem by my favorite poet — she describes the sense of loss and disconnect I had been feeling all month.
She could not live upon the Past
The Present did not know her
And so she sought this sweet at last
And nature gently owned her
The mother that has not a Knell
For either Duke or Robin
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1535)
I’m grateful for and encouraged by nature, poetry and my books, and family and friends, as I imagine most of us are. This squirrel came up to me on our last visit to the botanical garden, as if to say, “I’m here, too.”
The poorest experience is rich enough for all the purposes of expressing thought. Why covet a knowledge of new facts? Day and night, house and garden, a few books, a few actions, serve us as well as would all trades and all spectacles. We are far from having exhausted the significance of the symbols we use. We can come to use them yet with a terrible simplicity. It does not need that a poem should be long. Every word was once a poem.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
(The Poet)
simple healing in
watching a mourning dove feed
on the forest floor
~ Barbara Rodgers
(In the Woods)
The Clock strikes One
That just struck Two —
Some Schism in the Sum —
A Sorcerer from Genesis
Has wrecked the Pendulum —
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1598)
It was a butterfly day! We got to see migrating monarchs for the first time since we moved down here to North Carolina! And some of their fellow pollinators. Interesting to note that North Carolina is home to 75 butterfly, more than 500 bee, and over 4,000 moth species.
Yesterday is History,
’Tis so far away —
Yesterday is Poetry — ’tis Philosophy —
Yesterday is mystery —
Where it is Today
While we shrewdly speculate
Flutter both away
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1290)
A — Cap of Lead across the sky
Was tight and surly drawn
We could not find the mighty Face
The Figure was Withdrawn —
A Chill came up as from a shaft
Our noon became a well
A Thunder storm combines the charms
Of Winter and of Hell
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1735)
It was too hot for a walk but I had to get my summer picture for Karma’s “same location for all 4 seasons” photo hunt. And my coastal plain habitat boardwalk picture for June. I darted into the botanical garden, got them, and then took two quick pics on my way back out.
These Fevered Days — to take them to the Forest
Where Waters cool around the mosses crawl —
And shade is all that devastates the stillness
Seems it sometimes this would be all —
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1467)
A winged spark doth soar about —
I never met it near
For Lightning it is oft mistook
When nights are hot and sere —
It’s twinkling Travels it pursues
Above the Haunts of men —
A speck of Rapture — first perceived
By feeling it is gone —
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1502)
The velocity of the ill, however, is like that of the snail.
~ Emily Dickinson
(Letter to Charles H. Clark, April 1886)