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Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome
Has many sonnets: so here now shall be
One sonnet more, a love sonnet, from me
To her whose heart is my heart’s quiet home,
To my first Love, my Mother, on whose knee
I learnt love-lore that is not troublesome;
Whose service is my special dignity,
And she my loadstar while I go and come
And so because you love me, and because
I love you, Mother, I have woven a wreath
Of rhymes wherewith to crown your honored name:
In you not fourscore years can dim the flame
Of love, whose blessed glow transcends the laws
Of time and change and mortal life and death.
Christina Rossetti (1881)
I suppose this may end up being a bit of a rant but today I am wondering about the disregard we seem to have for one another. I had written a post a while back about the unseen, the poor who we choose to forget. It is so easy to rally around a cause for someone in another country or culture. These are good causes and those these causes help are valuable. What I want to know is what makes those who walk among us any less valuable? Why are those who struggle to get by shamed and made to feel as if they should “figure it out themselves,” making it hard to ask for help. When we continue to turn our backs on those who need a helping hand we condemn them to a cycle of endless defeat, a bottomless pit out of which they may never emerge. Of course there are those wonderful stories about those who “pulled themselves up by their bootstraps” and somehow became a resounding success. These are stories, few and far between.
As the numbers of working poor continue to grow we must look to extend a hand where we can. It may be something simple such as a ride down the road, rather than driving past someone walking in the rain. You may never know who is struggling to get by. For them an act of kindness can go a very long way.
Today is beautiful, sunny and slightly cool. The spring flowers are waiting to bloom and soon the air will be filled with the scent of lilacs and the gardens with the tulip blooms. How beautiful the spring flowers are though so short lived. It seems there is barely enough time to take it all in. I love to fill my house with lilac blooms each spring to savor their wonderful color and magical perfume. No doubt I’ll be out on the trail with my scissors to bring some home. I always worry a bit about what that might look like, walking the trail with scissors in tow. Still I think the people around here are pretty used to me by now.
The jury is still out on the new blog. It is visually very beautiful and I’m enjoying writing some drifting thoughts there, however, I can’t post a blog roll or use widgets of any kind. I don’t need much really but I can’t even add a page. If people don’t scroll to the bottom of each entry they will not know there are arrows to turn to the next entry. It is no doubt an interesting template concept but could have been taken a bit further. I will stick with it for now as I can’t find anything to match what it creates. If you want to see what it looks like go here.
Other than the mice my son saw parachuting into the furnace room last night, nothing else is new. Apparently they were dropping from the rafters, two of them. Not the best house to drop in for a visit as I have three cats, all delighted when mice drop by.
I saw thee once- once only- years ago:
I must not say how many- but not
It was a July midnight; and from out
A full-orbed moon, that like thine own
Sought a precipitate pathway up through
There fell a silvery silken veil of light,
With quietude, and sultriness and
Upon the upturn’d faces of a thousand
Roses that grew in an enchanted garden,
Where no wind dared to stir, unless on
Fell on the upturn’d faces of these
That gave out, in return for the love-
Their odorous souls in an ecstatic
Fell on the upturned faces of these
That smiled and died in this parterre,
by thee, and by the poetry of thy
Sometimes it seems working about the house is very liberating. Perhaps it is the drudgery of housework I have no idea, but in the midst of it all, I sat down and started writing. I think I could have written all night had I been alone, the words seemingly unstoppable. I am always amazed how they can suddenly pour from me out of nowhere. I was drifting with my heart and my heart was full of words and thoughts that needed to go somewhere.
Today, I cannot tell. It is too early to say but I do feel a certain tingle inside of me, one that comes when the words start to push their way out. It is a glorious day shaping up and it may be a good day to take the journal to the lake.
Currently I am experimenting with a new blog so if you see posts coming and going you are not going mad. The new theme is quite lovely but it does not support any widgets. Hence there is no way to add a blogroll that is viewable or any other widget. I am at a crossroads with it all right now as the theme is so visually appealing. We shall see.
I have no happiness in dreaming of Brycelinde,
Nor Avalon the grass-green hollow, nor Joyous Isle,
Where one found Lancelot crazed and hid him for a while;
Nor Uladh, when Naoise had thrown a sail upon the wind;
Nor lands that seem too dim to be burdens on the heart:
Land-under-Wave, where out of the moon’s light and the sun’s
Seven old sisters wind the threads of the long-lived ones,
Land-of-the-Tower, where Aengus has thrown the gates apart,
And Wood-of-Wonders, where one kills an ox at dawn,
To find it when night falls laid on a golden bier.
Therein are many queens like Branwen and Guinevere;
And Niamh and Laban and Fand, who could change to an otter or fawn,
And the wood-woman, whose lover was changed to a blue-eyed hawk;
And whether I go in my dreams by woodland, or dun, or shore,
Or on the unpeopled waves with kings to pull at the oar,
I hear the harp-string praise them, or hear their mournful talk.
Because of something told under the famished horn
Of the hunter’s moon, that hung between the night and the day,
To dream of women whose beauty was folded in dis may,
Even in an old story, is a burden not to be borne.
William Butler Yeats
The day is lovely, cool and sunny, the rain finally over, at least for now. I look out on the “woods” that back up to my home and wonder at it all. What was a moonlit silhouette of the trees of winter is filling with the small leaves of spring. Soon it will be enclosed in green, only the path leading to the center of this little forest, seen from the windows. On this path bloom the ferns and the wild violets of summer and it is filled with the songs of the birds by day and the mystical sounds of life that moves in the night. At times this place seems to whisper my name and I wonder if I was not meant to find myself here by my “woods,” my secret path through the meadow and my lake.
The last day has found me in a place I haven’t been for some time, my connections with things so strong I’m finding it almost overwhelming and difficult to find words. Last night was spent going from draft to draft, editing and deleting, finally resigning myself to the fact that I could not describe what I was feeling. Perhaps it is the dark moon approaching working it’s magic on me once again. Whatever the cause I am relishing this place and feel a strong pull to learn more about all things mystical. My life has been so consumed by the worries of everyday life that I think I lost my way for a time. It is as if I have been giving back the air that I breathe. I think I will go walk in that air and let it wash over me.
Last night I had intended to spend my night under the stars. It was a beautiful day and an even more beautiful evening. As we all know, the best laid plans often go awry. My son and I had spent some time outside after which I was very tired, something that has been plaguing me of late. He worked with his tadpoles while I watched a bit of TV while cleaning candle wicks. After that I could tell he was tired so we sat down to a movie.
The movie, Enchanted, was delightful but during one of the songs we heard a crash and ran downstairs only to find the mouse cage in several pieces on the floor. Fortunately the mouse had the wits about her not to exit her little hut. The cats, unsuccessful in their plot wandered away, and we cleaned and reassembled the cage. After vacuuming the floor we went back to the movie, mouse in tow. At the end of it my son, who was planning to join me under the stars was exhausted, so I held off until I knew he would be asleep. Of course, I fell asleep as well and that was the extent of any May Day eve activities.
Still the day was not lost in it’s beauty and serenades of twilight are always mystical. Today is again beautiful, though somewhat cooler. It is sun and clouds now, one of those pre-rain days where you can hear the birds so clearly and every sound of nature seems amplified while you wait for the rain to begin. I think I will just sit outside a bit today before I go off to work. Surely the appreciation of the day and all it brings is what it’s really all about.
