seen Sun emerge from his amazing house and leave a day at every door
Adapted from the poem When I have seen the Sun emerge, by Emily Dickenson written in 1864 and published in The Complete poems of Emily Dickinson. Edited by Thomas H. Johnson (Little, Brown and Company, Boston, 1960).
Sunrise over Skull Creek – Sun has emerged out of the Atlantic Ocean about 30 minutes earlier and just starting his day
When I have seen the Sun emerge
When I have seen the Sun emerge From His amazing House — And leave a Day at every Door A Deed, in every place —
Without the incident of Fame Or accident of Noise — The Earth has seemed to me a Drum, Pursued of little Boys
Recently I was driving over this bridge with this view with my daughter who was visiting along with her kids.
As she drove, she looked out the the window and then said to me …
“Do you ever get used to it being so beautiful here?”
I looked up from my hand held where I was checking something important like the current high tide or weather report or latest update on Michigan football.
I looked out the window at what I see every time I drive to work.
summer world bright fresh just far enough away seem dreamy, reposeful
Sun on the back parking lot on Hilton Head Island – Longest day of the year at 7AM
Saturday morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and fresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if the heart was young the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in every face and a spring in every step. The locust trees were in bloom and the fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Cardiff Hill, beyond the village and above it, was green with vegetation, and it lay just far enough away to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.
From Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain.
The prelude to Tom Sawyer whitewashing the back fence.
After painting this word picture and opening the door to an early summer day, which I have used for the first day of summer, the longest day of the year, Mr. Twain slams the door shut with the words, “Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board fence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden.“
I have to take my hat off to Mr. Twain and stand in awe of the simple combination of simple words that takes us to a mountain top.
All the summer world was bright and fresh, and brimming with life.
There was a song in every heart; and if the heart was young the music issued at the lips.
There was cheer in every face and a spring in every step.
… just far enough away to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.
Then with the same use of simple words, Mr. Twain shoves us off the mountain.
… all gladness left him and a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit.
Thirty yards of board fence nine feet high.
Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden.
I can see it.
I can feel it.
I can hear it in my soul.
Screen shot of my iPhone Compass – at 7am – Sun was at 61 degrees ENE – notice its already 79 and I am 21 feet above sea level … which was off by 15 feet.
make us one new dream us who forget out of storms let us have one star
Sunrise in storms clouds over Pinckney Island, South Carolina on Thursday morning.
Adapted from a Prayer after World War by Carl Sandburg, in Smoke and Steel as published in The Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg, by Carl Sandburg, Harcourt, Brace, New York, 1950.
Wandering oversea dreamer, Hunting and hoarse, Oh daughter and mother, Oh daughter of ashes and mother of blood, Child of the hair let down, and tears, Child of the cross in the south And the star in the north,
Keeper of Egypt and Russia and France, Keeper of England and Poland and Spain, Make us a song for to-morrow. Make us one new dream, us who forget, Out of the storm let us have one star.
Struggle, Oh anvils, and help her. Weave with your wool, Oh winds and skies. Let your iron and copper help, Oh dirt of the old dark earth.
Wandering oversea singer, Singing of ashes and blood, Child of the scars of fire, Make us one new dream, us who forget. Out of the storm let us have one star.
far ends of the lake where no one lives or visits no roads to get there
Storm clouds over Broad Creek from the Robert Smalls Bridge in Beaufort County, SC
I just heard a loon-call on a TV ad and my body gave itself a quite voluntary shudder, as in the night in East Africa I heard the immense barking cough of a lion, so foreign and indifferent.
But the lion drifts away and the loon stays close, calling, as she did in my childhood, in the cold rain a song that tells the world of men to keep its distance.
It isn’t the signal of another life or the reminder of anything except her call: still, at this quiet point past midnight the rain is the same rain that fell so long ago, and the loon says I’m seven years old again.
At the far ends of the lake where no one lives or visits — there are no roads to get there; you take the watercourse way, the quiet drip and drizzle of oars, slight squeak of oarlock, the bare feet can feel the cold water move beneath the old wood boat.
At one end the lordly great blue herons nest at the top of the white pine; at the other end the loons, just after daylight in cream-colored mist, drifting with wails that begin as querulous, rising then into the spheres in volume, with lost or doomed angels imprisoned within their breasts.
THE IDEA OF BALANCE IS TO BE FOUND IN HERONS AND LOONS, by JAMES HARRISON
No Haiku For You 