Sweet Violets

The Violet

Down in a green and shady bed,
A modest violet grew;
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head
As if to hide from view.
And yet it was a lovely flower,
Its colour bright and fair;
It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.

Yet thus it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;
And there diffused a sweet perfume,
Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go
This pretty flower to see;
That I may also learn to grow
In sweet humility.

Jane Taylor, Poet (1783-1824)
One of my favorite flowers; I noticed them as soon as I got out of my car this evening.  How wonderful to have them right outside my back door, greeting me as I come and go!
Images made with my cell phone and my new (favorite) app (the ‘roidizer’).

Say these words softly and slowly

I’ve been in a poetic mood lately – that’s the best way I can describe it.

I’ve always loved words but this is somehow different and all of a sudden.

I took advantage of my Prime membership today (big surprise) and will be receiving (not one) but two volumes of poetry tomorrow (And, no, I could not wait until Monday for delivery even though it would have been free).

See what I mean??  I’m having poetry over-nighted!

Its kind of scary!

I’ve run across a couple of poems by Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson recently, where each time while reading them, something inside of me ‘tingled’ for lack of a better word.

I never enjoyed poetry before now.  In fact, I never even liked it (much) before now.  So I’m kind of excited to see where this new interest will lead me.

I’m not sure what has changed, other than my perspective, possibly.

Although once, now that I think about it, while watching Anne of Green Gables  (several years ago) that one part – in the beginning – where Anne is reciting the ‘Lady of Shallot’, ‘Willows Whiten, Aspens Quiver’…THAT did get me…maybe I’ve just been in denial all this time.

Anyway…I was perusing the internet just now, looking for ‘beautiful words’ to tide me over until tomorrow and I found a few that I like the sound of.

In fact (according to Wikipedia) there is a term for words or phrases that are ‘beautiful’ simply in terms of phonaesthetics – meaning they have no regard for semantics.  One (much used) example of this is the word:  cellar door. 

Say it softly and slowly. 

Cellar door

Nice, isn’t it?

Here are some others:

(but you have to say them out loud, softly and slowly).






























It’s quite nice, don’t you think?

Spring Dreaming

Maybe I’m just in Spring-mode these days …but I re-discovered Robert Frost recently and can’t seem to get one poem, in particular, out of my head.

Even though ‘apple picking’ takes place later in the year…I kept envisioning the trees and their blossoms while reading it.

I’ve been thinking about all sorts of Spring-like things lately (especially after my weekend of foraging in the ‘forest’)…from planting and dish gardens… to wanting to paint the walls in my house (again).

(I’m considering something in the turquoise family.)

It’s all a sure sign I’m ready for a new season and/or a change!

So…since the poem inspired me to start thinking about Spring (and considering I even did something about it this past weekend – see previous post) – I thought I’d share it; as it just may inspire you as well!

After Apple Picking

Robert Frost

My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still.
And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn’t pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples; I am drowsing off.
I cannot shake the shimmer from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the water-trough,
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
And I keep hearing from the cellar-bin
That rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking; I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall,
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised, or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it’s like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.

above image found online and ‘tweaked’ in photoshop

A Light Exists in Spring

A Light Exists in Spring

-Emily Dickinson

A light exists in spring
Not present on the year
At any other period,
When March is scarcely here.

A color stands abroad
On solitary hills
That science cannot overtake,
But human nature feels.



It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.

Then, as horizons step,
Or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
It passes, and we stay:

A quality of loss
Affecting our content,
As trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a sacrament.



Be inspired by Spring this year!

Lensbaby images – ‘just off’ Michigan Avenue, Chicago