Saturday, June 25, 2016

MySpot: Autumn in the Park

"We stand watching the yellow leaves go queer,
flapping in the winter rain,
falling flat and washed."

Anne Sexton

Grace, Beauty, Spirit and Freedom

"A thousand horse and none to ride! -
With flowing tail, and flying mane,
Wide nostrils never stretched by pain,
Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein,
And feet that iron never shod,
And flanks unscarred by spur or rod,
A thousand horse, the wild, the free,
Like waves that follow o'er the sea,
Came thickly thundering on (...)."

Lord Byron - Mazeppa

Pink Garden

"If, I can someday see M. Claude Monet's garden, 
I feel sure that I shall see something that is not so much a garden of flowers as of colours and tones, 
less an old-fashioned flower garden than a colour garden, so to speak, 
one that achieves an effect not entirely nature's, 
because it was planted so that only the flowers with matching colours will bloom at the same time, 
harmonized in an infinite stretch of blue or pink."

Marcel Proust - Splendours

MySpot: Black&White Spring

"A light exists in Spring
Not present in the year
at any other period
When March is scarcely here."

Emily Dickinson 

MySpot: Autumn Carries more Gold in its Pocket

"Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. 
The morning of the first September was crisp and golden as an apple."

J.K. Rowling - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Saturday, June 11, 2016

MySpot: Autumnal Flash

"Use what you have, use what the world gives you. 
Use the first day of fall: bright flame before winter's deadness; harvest; orange, gold, amber; cool nights and the smell of fire. 
Our tree-lined streets are set ablaze, our kitchens filled with the smells of nostalgia: 
apples bubbling into sauce, roasting squash, cinnamon, nutmeg, cider, warmth itself. 
The leaves as they spark into wild color just before they die are the world's oldest performance art."

Shauna Niequist - Bittersweet: Thoughts on Change, Grace, and Learning the Hard Way

Delicate Prisoners

"When bright flowers bloom
Parchment crumbles, my words fade
The pen has dropped ..."


Friday, June 10, 2016

A Dramatist

"Lonesome, friendless self-assured,
They walk this earth as if it's theirs,
Belongs to no one, not him nor her,
We say it's my cat, your cat, theirs.
Cat, he walks with attitude,
That says he doesn't care."

F. E. Smith