a life incredible, vivid, excellent.
I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, ‘Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.’
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“Is the spring coming?” he said. “What is it like?”…
“It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine…”
― Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
“Oh, look how beautiful the sun is shining through the trees!” I said, drunk on the last golden light of evening glowing through the golden leaves of the ginko trees.
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I love spring anywhere, but if I could choose I would always greet it in a garden. — Ruth Stout It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade. — Charles Dickens In the…
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Fear no more the heat o’ the sun, Nor the furious winter’s rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o’ the great; Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke; Care no more to…
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There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
after completing messes of men, the first part of my photography project inspired by mewithoutYou’s brother, sister, cranking the second part out was surprisingly easy. as part of this shoot i learned about betta fish and discovered just how many things cockle burrs can latch onto. [and how cold 40-degree weather can be — thanks…
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i’ve talked before about my love for mewithoutYou’s album brother, sister, and my desire to “illustrate” it, so to speak, through photography and other media. a desire four or five years in the making finally got off the ground last march when i did two shoots based on “messes of men,” the first song on…
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Joy is not naivete. To be innocent is not to be ignorant. To rejoice in hope is to be a light in the darkness.
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What if you could step out of your normal everyday life for a hour or two and into the midst of an adventure particular to you?
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yesterday morning the newly-fallen flakes
lay large and lacy atop the earlier shroud of snow
when i woke the snow
was once more falling
what once was whole has now been riven
and the guilty soul bows to be shriven
is there such a thing as “the ugly truth”
or is truth, no matter how hard —
no matter how painful —
no matter how hard we wish it were not so —
look, light has broken
on the darkened world
vanished is the lonely night —
eternity dawns
Jehovah, how can
One so great become so small?
Yahweh, a baby?
poor, his bed is not
even his to claim
at least in human reck’ning
could this be the one
ev’ry soul longs for?
here on a hay bed
open eyes shine black
peering from a tiny face
even still womb-wet
what fills the spaces in between?
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this, and my dreams, are all i bring
for i, being poor, know naught else to do
