So it is, and so it will be

>>>>++<<<<

B r o t h e r   o f   M i n e

Laurelwood Cemetery

Rock Hill, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in

the hard ground.

So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:

Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely,

Crowned with lilies and with laurel they go; but I am

not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.

Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.

A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,

A formula, a phrase remains, -- but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter,

the love, --

They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and

curled

Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not

approve.

More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses

of the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave

Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;

Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.

I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

> Edna St. Vincent Millay <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Wednesday

These tender days

>>>>++<<<<

S o   L i k e   t h e   L i l a c

Wisteria Growing Wild

Lexington, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

Warble me now, for joy of Lilac-time,
Sort me, O tongue and lips, for Nature's sake, and sweet life's
sake -- and death's the same as life's,
Souvenirs of earliest summer -- birds' eggs, and the first berries;
Gather the welcome signs,

(as children, with pebbles, or stringing shells;)
Put in April and May -- the hylas croaking in the ponds

-- the elastic air,
Bees, butterflies, the sparrow with its simple notes,
Blue-bird, and darting swallow -- nor forget the high-hole

flashing his golden wings,
The tranquil sunny haze, the clinging smoke, the vapor,
Spiritual, airy insects, humming on gossamer wings,
Shimmer of waters, with fish in them -- the cerulean above;
All that is jocund and sparkling -- the brooks running,
The maple woods, the crisp February days, and the sugar-making;
The robin, where he hops, bright-eyed, brown-breasted,
With musical clear call at sunrise, and again at sunset,
Or flitting among the trees of the apple-orchard,

building the nest of his mate;
The melted snow of March --

the willow sending forth its yellow-green sprouts;
-- For spring-time is here! the summer is here!

and what is this in it and from it?
Thou, Soul, unloosen'd -- the restlessness after I know not what;
Come! let us lag here no longer -- let us be up and away!
O for another world! O if one could but fly like a bird!
O to escape -- to sail forth, as in a ship!
To glide with thee, O Soul, o'er all, in all,

as a ship o'er the waters!
-- Gathering these hints, these preludes -- the blue sky,

the grass, the morning drops of dew;
(With additional songs -- every spring will I now

strike up additional songs,
Nor ever again forget, these tender days,

the chants of Death as well as Life;)
The lilac-scent, the bushes, and the dark green, heart-shaped leaves,
Wood violets, the little delicate pale blossoms called innocence,
Samples and sorts not for themselves alone, but for their atmosphere,
To tally, drench'd with them, tested by them,
Cities and artificial life, and all their sights and scenes,
My mind henceforth, and all its meditations -- my recitatives,
My land, my age, my race, for once to serve in songs,
(Sprouts, tokens ever of death indeed the same as life,)
To grace the bush I love -- to sing with the birds,
A warble for joy of Lilac-time.

> Walt Whitman <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Tuesday

The sun does her thing

>>>>++<<<<

W a i t   H e r e

Oakdale Cemetery

Wilmington, North Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

To my left,
you, in the driver’s seat.
Chlorophyll, to my right,

through the windowglass, green tipping
to black, tipping to gold, shivering.
Green hills, further on, shading

to blue. Fuzzed slopes, lovable, rolling down down.
Awkward weeds, sprigged, not wheat and won’t feed anyone.
All is Dutch, set out for display and gain.

I’ve come to a conclusion about happiness: I want it.
You say “Sometimes you’ve got
to bust a move.” How would I do that?

Through the windowglass I can get a fearsome burn.
Thus I’m spf’d. I must earn.
On my lap, folderful of papers to which I should turn

but the sun does her thing: down down.
We don’t see her cooling, but we gain
from her careful campaign. 

Goodbye glimpse, speed past,
the green consummation tracks
everwards, lost --

Lost me, lost you,
lost green hills shading to blue
and lost the valley view ...

> Kathleen Ossip <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Monday

For oh, the way is long

>>>>++<<<<

T h e   T i e s   T h a t   B i n d

Elmwood Cemetery

Columbia, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

I could not do without Thee
O Savior of the lost
Whose precious blood redeemed me
At such tremendous cost
Thy righteousness, thy pardon
Thy precious blood, must be
My only hope and comfort
My glory and my plea.

I could not do without Thee
I cannot stand alone
I have no strength or goodness
No wisdom of my own
But Thou, beloved Savior
Art all in all to me
And weakness will be power
If leaning hard on Thee.

I could not do without Thee
For oh, the way is long
And I am often weary
And sigh replaces song
How could I do without Thee
I do not know the way
Thou knowest and Thou leadest
And wilt not let me stray.

I could not do without Thee
O Jesus, Savior dear
E’en when my eyes are holden
I know that Thou art near
How dreary and how lonely
This changeful life would be
Without the sweet communion
The secret rest with Thee.

I could not do without Thee
No other friend can read
The spirit’s strange deep longings
Interpreting its need
No human heart could enter
Each dim recess of mine
And soothe and hush and calm it
O blessèd Lord, but Thine.

I could not do without Thee
For years are fleeting fast
And soon in solemn oneness
The river must be passed
But Thou wilt never leave me
And though the waves roll high
I know Thou wilt be near me
And whisper “It is I.”

> Frances Ridley Havergal (1836-1879) <

>>>>++<<<<

Let your conversation be without covetousness;

and be content with such things as ye have:

for he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.

 > Hebrews 13:5 <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Sunday

Whose wandering is done

>>>>++<<<<

R a p t

Elmwood Cemetery

Memphis, Tennessee

>>>>++<<<<

Let down the Bars, Oh Death --

The tired Flocks come in

Whose bleating ceases to repeat

Whose wandering is done --

Thine is the stillest night

Thine the securest Fold

Too near Thou art for seeking Thee

Too tender, to be told.

> Emily Dickinson <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Saturday :: Happy June

Moving at summer's pace

>>>>++<<<<

L e a d   t h e   W a y

Palmetto Trail at the Broad River

Peak, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

Cut grass lies frail:
Brief is the breath
Mown stalks exhale.

Long, long the death

It dies in the white hours
Of young-leafed June
With chestnut flowers,
With hedges snowlike strewn,

White lilac bowed,
Lost lanes of Queen Anne's lace,
And that high-builded cloud
Moving at summer's pace.

> Philip Larkin <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Friday

When dew is dropping sleep

>>>>++<<<<

A m e r i c a n   G o t h i c

Elmwood Cemetery

Charlotte, North Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

O cloud-pale eyelids, dream-dimmed eyes,
The poets labouring all their days
To build a perfect beauty in rhyme
Are overthrown by a woman’s gaze
And by the unlabouring brood of the skies:
And therefore my heart will bow, when dew
Is dropping sleep, until God burn time,
Before the unlabouring stars and you.

> William Butler Yeats <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Thursday

When dew is dropping sleep

>>>>++<<<<

A m e r i c a n   G o t h i c

Elmwood Cemetery

Charlotte, North Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

O cloud-pale eyelids, dream-dimmed eyes,
The poets labouring all their days
To build a perfect beauty in rhyme
Are overthrown by a woman’s gaze
And by the unlabouring brood of the skies:
And therefore my heart will bow, when dew
Is dropping sleep, until God burn time,
Before the unlabouring stars and you.

> William Butler Yeats <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Monday

And here the work of faith

>>>>++<<<<

T h e   U p w a r d   L o o k

Dorn Veterans Hospital

Columbia, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

I thought of happiness, how it is woven
Out of the silence in the empty house each day
And how it is not sudden and it is not given
But is creation itself like the growth of a tree.
No one has seen it happen, but inside the bark
Another circle is growing in the expanding ring.
No one has heard the root go deeper in the dark,
But the tree is lifted by this inward work
And its plumes shine, and its leaves are glittering.

So happiness is woven out of the peace of hours
And strikes its roots deep in the house alone:
The old chest in the corner, cool waxed floors,
White curtains softly and continually blown
As the free air moves quietly about the room;
A shelf of books, a table, and the white-washed wall --
These are the dear familiar gods of home,
And here the work of faith can best be done,
The growing tree is green and musical.

For what is happiness but growth in peace,
The timeless sense of time when furniture
Has stood a life's span in a single place,
And as the air moves, so the old dreams stir
The shining leaves of present happiness?
No one has heard thought or listened to a mind,
But where people have lived in inwardness
The air is charged with blessing and does bless;
Windows look out on mountains and the walls are kind.

> May Sarton <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Wednesday

All I can do is wait

>>>>++<<<<

G a r d e n i a m e r i c a

Flower and Flag

Columbia, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

The dog and I push through the ring
of dripping junipers
to enter the open space high on the hill
where I let him off the leash.

He vaults, snuffling, between tufts of moss;
twigs snap beneath his weight; he rolls
and rubs his jowls on the aromatic earth;
his pink tongue lolls.

I look for sticks of proper heft
to throw for him, while he sits, prim
and earnest in his love, if it is love.

All night a soaking rain, and now the hill
exhales relief, and the fragrance
of warm earth ... The sedges
have grown an inch since yesterday,
and ferns unfurled, and even if they try
the lilacs by the barn can't
keep from opening today.

I longed for spring's thousand tender greens,
and the white-throated sparrow's call
that borders on rudeness. Do you know --
since you went away
all I can do
is wait for you to come back to me.

> Jane Kenyon <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Tuesday