...

Margaret Atwood The Year of the Flood.

Image from here.

My November Guest...

My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted gray
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.

OK so it's not strictly November...yet. But Robert Frost's My November Guest pretty much sums up the love I have for this time of year - the drum of rain on the roof at night when tucked up in bed, crisp cold frosty days, hearty stews and steaming puddings, bracing walks amongst the trees, roaring log fires, wearing layer upon layer and thick woolly socks, the subtle light of the sun setting across a autumnal sky, misty mornings and frosty fields...there is so much about this season that makes me catch my breath, pause and wonder at the beauty of it all.

The Darkling Thrush...

I leant upon a coppice gate

When Frost was spectre-gray,

And Winter’s dregs made desolate

The weakening eye of day.

The tangled bine-stems scored the sky

Like strings of broken lyres,

And all mankind that haunted nigh

Had sought their household fires.

The land’s sharp features seemed to be 

The Century’s corpse outleant,

His crypt the cloudy canopy,

The wind his death-lament.

The ancient pulse of germ and birth

Was shrunken hard and dry,

And every spirit upon earth

Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among

The bleak twigs overhead

In a full-hearted evensong

Of joy illimited;

An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,

In blast-beruffled plume,

Had chosen thus to fling his soul

Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings

Of such ecstatic sound

Was written on terrestrial things

Afar or nigh around,

That I could think there trembled through

His happy good-night air

Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew

And I was unaware.  

A little bit of Thomas Hardy on a Wednesday morning.

Summer...

"Summer is the time when one sheds one's tensions with one's clothes, and the right kind of day is jeweled balm for the battered spirit. A few of those days and you can become drunk with the belief that all's right with the world."

Ada Louise Huxtable

I think this quote sums summer up particularly well don't you think? We are basking (or melting depending on your perspective) in the high high 90s. Pure bliss! I'd quite like to climb into the cool waters of the image above - if only we were by the sea...
I hope the week has been kind to you - I shall be back this evening with what:nots.
Image from here.

Two years...

Two Years Poem

Like yellow roses

your breathing blushes

my cheek with cool petals

The morning is quietly unfolding 

and so are we - teasing the edges of

our crumpled bundle of warm skin

and dreams

We ease apart like episodes

unsure in places if we are 

one page or two.

A little poem by Jenny Dobson to start the week.
Poem found via Poesy.

Lines written in early spring...

I heard a thousand blended notes,

While in a grove I sate reclined,

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts

Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link

The human soul that through me ran;

And much it grieved my heart to think

What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,

The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;

And 'tis my faith that every flower

Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,

Their thoughts I cannot measure:--

But the least motion which they made

It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,

To catch the breezy air;

And I must think, do all I can,

That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,

If such be Nature's holy plan,

Have I not reason to lament

What man has made of man?

- William Wordsworth

Estuary...

There is peace here,

where the river widens to meet the sea.

The rapids are past;

the boulders and the rocky places at last give way

to a broad and sweeping current,

flowing slowly into vastness.

The river moves silently,

tastes the salty tide that marks its demise, and slips

without a backward glance,

into the ocean's infinite embrace.

- Danna Faulds

Image by me (Waikanae River estuary, New Zealand).

Time is...

Time is

too slow for those who wait,

too swift for those who fear,

too long for those who grieve,

too short for those who rejoice.

But for those who love,

time is an eternity.

A little poem by Henry Van Dyke for a Tuesday evening.

The road not taken...

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Sorting through my things I came across this lovely poem by Robert Frost. I love the diversity and feelings his poems evoke. How is your Tuesday coming along? I'm finally feeling like I've settled into a rhythm of life here, am making connections, and I'm busy planning out the next few months, including a bit of travel, and perhaps some study. All of which is making me feel more sunshiny than a wee while ago - which can only be good! Have a happy Tuesday.

Feeling a tad lonely....

I have to admit I'm struggling a tad with the loneliness of not knowing anyone here. As much as I like time on my own, and am quite independent some days I have to admit it is a bit of a struggle. So I plan to hatch a plan to improve my situation, starting with a mug of tea and a gooey piece of cake! I will let you know how I get on. I came across this poem by Robert Creeley last week and fell in love with it.

Love comes quietly

Love comes quietly,

finally, drops

about me, on me,

in the old ways.

What did I know

thinking myself

able to go alone

all the way.

A rainy day poem...

A quick post today. I've been in Auckland sorting out visas, and meeting up with R who is back home after three weeks - hooray!

It was raining (!) when we got back to our little city - so I think it's appropriate to post this poem by Hone Tuwhare - enjoy!

Rain

I can hear you

Making small holes

In the silence

Rain

If I were deaf

the pores of my skin

would open to you

and shut

And I

should know you

by the lick of you

if I were blind

the something

special smell of you

when the sun cakes

the ground

the steady

drum-roll sound

you make

when the wind drops

But if I

should not hear

smell or feel or see

you

you would still

define me

disperse me

wash over me

rain