Nature

yelflower

Nature by Henry David Thoreau

O Nature! I do not aspire
To be the highest in thy choir, –
To be a meteor in thy sky,
Or comet that may range on high;
Only a zephyr that may blow
Among the reeds by the river low;
Give me thy most privy place
Where to run my airy race.

In some withdrawn, unpublic mead
Let me sigh upon a reed,
Or in the woods, with leafy din,
Whisper the still evening in:
Some still work give me to do, –
Only – be it near to you!

For I’d rather be thy child
And pupil, in the forest wild,
Than be the king of men elsewhere,
And most sovereign slave of care;
To have one moment of thy dawn,
Than share the city’s year forlorn.

Visitors

I may have to make my work table move next to the window in my dining room permanent. It’s nice having company while I’m working.

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working

I’ve temporarily taken over my dining room table with my cutting mat and supplies. There’s a large picture window next to it that faces my deck and it lets in a lot of great light. I lined my deck railing with bird seed and sunflower seeds, so I’ve been getting lots of visitors as I work — so far my usual squirrels, a finch, a tufted titmouse, a female cardinal, a flicker, a downy woodpecker, and a nuthatch. Plus, a neighborhood cat who knows I have cat treats hidden away for when he visits. I’ve got my camera at hand for many photo opps, so of course, photos to come. Plus, lots of new paper cuttings to come.

April

April Sunset, Atchison, KS, 2010

April Sunset, Atchison, KS, 2010

Song of a Second April by Edna St. Vincent Millay

APRIL this year, not otherwise
Than April of a year ago
Is full of whispers, full of sighs,
Dazzling mud and dingy snow;
Hepaticas that pleased you so
Are here again, and butterflies.

There rings a hammering all day,
And shingles lie about the doors;
From orchards near and far away
The gray wood-pecker taps and bores,
And men are merry at their chores,
And children earnest at their play.

The larger streams run still and deep;
Noisy and swift the small brooks run.
Among the mullein stalks the sheep
Go up the hillside in the sun
Pensively; only you are gone,
You that alone I cared to keep.