Boxing Day

Happy Boxing Day!

Mary Christ-mas

Remember
This December,
That love weighs more than gold.
~Josephine Dodge Daskam Bacon

The Doorbell Rang ... A True Story

 The doorbell rang,

From my blue chair I sprang,

Nobody was there,
Or so it was made to appear.

Then suddenly from around the corner,

Came a truck full of hearty young carolers.

It hadn't been a Christmas trick,

But a warning bell,

From the carolers to tell.

They came and they went so quick,

Singing about good old St Nick.

As they trailed out of sight,

Into the freezing December night,

I thanked them silently,

For the Christmas cheer they brought to me.

Merry Christmas, every one!

The Other Emily

Silhouette of Emily Bronte, by Elizabeth Baverstock

Emily Bronte died on this date in 1848. Her bones lay cold and still, silent and restless in her grave, but I am sure her spirit soars and frequents the moorland she loved so much. Of all the Bronte sister's dispositions and temperaments, I am most like Emily. She is like a kindred sister to me. I think it no coincidence that the other Emily, also a kindred of mine, shared the same name, too.

A DAY DREAM
by: Emily Brontë (1818-1848)

N a sunny brae alone I lay
One summer afternoon;
It was the marriage-time of May,
With her young lover, June.

 

From her mother's heart seemed loath to part
That queen of bridal charms,
But her father smiled on the fairest child
He ever held in his arms.

 

The trees did wave their plumy crests,
The glad birds carolled clear;
And I, of all the wedding guests,
Was only sullen there!

 

There was not one, but wished to shun
My aspect void of cheer;
The very gray rocks, looking on,
Asked, "What do you here?"

 

And I could utter no reply;
In sooth, I did not know
Why I had brought a clouded eye
To greet the general glow.

 

So, resting on a heathy bank,
I took my heart to me;
And we together sadly sank
Into a reverie.

 

We thought, "When winter comes again,
Where will these bright things be?
All vanished, like a vision vain,
An unreal mockery!

 

"The birds that now so blithely sing,
Through deserts, frozen dry,
Poor spectres of the perished spring,
In famished troops will fly.

 

"And why should we be glad at all?
The leaf is hardly green,
Before a token of its fall
Is on the surface seen!"

 

Now, whether it were really so,
I never could be sure;
But as in fit of peevish woe,
I stretched me on the moor,

 

A thousand thousand gleaming fires
Seemed kindling in the air;
A thousand thousand silvery lyres
Resounded far and near:

 

Methought, the very breath I breathed
Was full of sparks divine,
And all my heather-couch was wreathed
By that celestial shine!

 

And, while the wide earth echoing rung
To that strange minstrelsy
The little glittering spirits sung,
Or seemed to sing, to me:

 

"O mortal! mortal! let them die;
Let time and tears destroy,
That we may overflow the sky
With universal joy!

 

"Let grief distract the sufferer's breast,
And night obscure his way;
They hasten him to endless rest,
And everlasting day.

 

"To thee the world is like a tomb,
A desert's naked shore;
To us, in unimagined bloom,
It brightens more and more!

 

"And, could we lift the veil, and give
One brief glimpse to thine eye,
Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live,
BECAUSE they live to die."

 

The music ceased; the noonday dream,
Like dream of night, withdrew;
But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem
Her fond creation true.

It's Emily's Birthday

Not knowing when the dawn will come, I open every door.

- Emily Dickinson

The Fruits of Winter

Like any good season, winter's got it's high points, and here is one of them. Ruby red nuggets, not quite bitter and not quite sweet.

One of the things born in December near to my heart.  ~~Bookishkind

Ruins

it is in the ruins~

where sorrow overtakes joy,
flaws become exposed,

learning replaces ignorance,
lessons are learned,

forgiveness stands,

walls are rebuilt,

and finally you can flee the broken remains
when the light shines through.

A Bird in the Tree

Today the wind picked up as there is a storm coming overnight. The leaves on this tree that had been holding out on letting go, were swept up, blowing every which way. You couldn't tell if they were birds or leaves. Then in an unexpected moment, I caught this bird in the tree and for a moment you couldn't tell if it were bird or leaf.

A bird in a tree...

With this as my inspiration, I am determined to obtain a bird watching book to learn about the winter birds who keep my company all the winter through. Here he is again moments after he left the rest of the tree branch.

Meanwhile, the neighbors got to flying a kite in the strong March-like winds.

With all the winged creatures about, I fully expected the faeries to show up next. But I had to be happy with what I got. I was.

Bless Your Thanksgiving

Call Me Old Fashioned

In celebration of Thanksgiving, here is a movie version of Louisa May Alcott's, "Old Fashioned Thanksgiving." Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving Prayer

I raise my cup to fall, to blessings given one and all.
The harvest bounty laid, before eyes and hands bent in Grace.
~Bookish Kind

London Fog

Do not adjust your computer screen, just enjoy the view.

Pie in the Sky

 

No pie in the sky tonight, just velvet. 

At least that's what it looked like..., 

A big velvet carpet spread out on a section of sky as the sun set.

My oh my, how lovely the sky.

Bronte Weather Blog

Bronte geeks, take note - this Bronte weather project blog just started here this fall. The Yorkshire weather is all over their writings and in their blood, it's just a part of them, ...almost it's own character in each of their respective books. I am so enamored of the Yorkshire wilderness and environment this will almost see me through not being there in person, at least for now. Link up, readers!

Photo by Rebecca Chesney

The Winter Birds Have Arrived

It's one of the best things about fall/winter, the changing of the guard in the bird world that happens each year. There are always little rare beauties that take over the bleak duty of midwinter. You never see their variety any other time of the year, and why they choose to spend the winter in such circumstances I will never know. But I am so glad, so grateful they do. Their frames grace the sky with much needed company as the season wanes on. Welcome one and all.

Edited to add this, which I came across several days after writing this post:

"The Snow Birds" by Ben Burroughs, from Sketches, 1965

"I watched a flock of snow birds engaged in finding food,
And I must here and now admit they had great fortitude,
They perched upon the frozen earth as though it were velvet plush,
And when one spied a crust of bread, they all joined in the rush.
High flying are these feathered friends, they come with winter's cold,
And fill the air with lusty song, each time their wings unfold.
Where they hide out when storms invade, is really beyond me,
For there is little shelter in a bony, leafless tree.
They love the freezing temperatures, this no one can deny,
They're migratory Eskimos that love a hazy sky,
But when the springtime comes again, snow birds will fly away,
To head for lands where icy frost, is ready to display."

Judge a Book By Its Cover

Judge a book by its cover.

These for example are gorgeous, and I'd probably buy them just for the covers, 

even though, "Wuthering Heights," is not my favorite read. 

They bookend the words so warmly and agreeably you think of them,

not as dust jackets or covers, but as cosys.
If teapots can have cosys, surely books can.

There Stepped a Stately Raven

"There stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore" Poe

Photo from "The Victorian Era" site

Happy Halloween!

Putting Down Your Thoughts

My current writing journals and scratch notes covers

There is something to be said about writing the old-fashioned way;

Sitting outside with a pencil and paper, putting down your thoughts as they flow. 

You reconsider things like this when all your computer data is lost, and you have no backup. 

Imagine. Create.Write. Backup.

There are a thousand thoughts lying within a man 

that he does not know till he takes up a pen to write.
William Makepeace Thackeray

We Can't All Live at Walden Pond

Photo from Walden Pond State Reservation

We can't all live at Walden Pond, yet we find glimpses of it in the daily living. Riding a motorcycle at night when the world is at its height of stillness. Gathering up pieces of fall from backyard trees for the sheer beauty of doing it. Dipping your foot in a body of water no matter how small. Knowing when you meet the eyes of those little companions whose footfalls shadow yours, whether feline or canine, that they see the world through senses we may not know, like the woodland creatures do.
Moments that take you there, if only briefly, to the pond, to what it must be like to actually hear nature when you sit outside, not nature backed up by airplanes buzzing by, or neighbors mowing overgrown lawns. These glimpses of simplicity and just being that come our way are telling us something. They speak of what's real and what's important. They pierce to the soul, healing frazzled spirits desperate for the pond and what it represents.

I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.

Henry David Thoreau

October 15, 2011

Raven Thoughts

"But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if its soul in that one word he did outpour
Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered--
Till I scarcely more than muttered: "Other friends have flown before--
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said "Nevermore."

~Edgar Allan Poe 

Whether read by day or night,

that midnight raven nevermore will take his flight.

~Bookishkind

Gathered Words

 Poe, Austen, Bronte, Keats, Shelley, Byron, Tennyson --

One word is all it takes, their names alone are enough for me.

Yet..., pull the harvest from the shelf...

 ...The gathered words are the ones I like best. ~Bookishkind

But words are things, 

and a small drop of ink, 

falling like dew, 

upon a thought.

~~Lord Byron

First Fall

The very first leaf of fall.
I love how each glows from behind,
Though they are all the same first leaf.

A little halo, grounded by it's gentle journey.

Digesting New Words

 Just discovered some new-to-me words that I am still digesting. They are so wonderfully filling!

So delicate each leaf
So mighty your bough
Branches bend humbly
Yet strength be your vow
Waters in libation
Winds in embrace
Under your majesty
Beneath I in place
Seasons of change
Sun, moon a distant star
Listen I to all the secrets
Whispers near and far.

Rose Marie Raccioppi

Wee Hours

 I find the wee hours of the night to be my cup of tea. It's quiet. Walden Pond kind of quiet. You can think, and the only thing that stirs are the thoughts inside your own head.
On the contrary, the early hours of the day always catch up with me undesirably, unfortunately. They come too soon, and I always greet them with the annoyance of one who should know better, since she's squandered sleep to the wee ones.
Yet this cycle goes on, over and over, night after night. And dreadful morning after morning. I seek out the luxury and discipline of a good night's sleep with good intentions. Somehow, it rarely finds me.

Look Up

 There is one last amazing frontier remaining, where new discoveries emerge constantly. It's not the tundra, and it's not the deep. Just look up, it's right there. Last night a dark dragon stood in the evening sky. Today a wide patch of blue forms a bluefish from the white, parting clouds. Tomorrow it will look very different. There might be colors on the horizon, or streaks of gray. The paintbrush will be dipped and refreshed with new paints and textures, constantly, -- layers of them. Leaving discoveries wide open to anyone who cares to trek the adventure. I almost hope for streaks of gray that just say September. Embrace September.

Some Glad Morning

I admit that I love music just a little bit more than I love books. My intent is not to combine the two together on this blog, for the most part, but with this CD by Cindy Morgan re-releasing and becoming available at Target, I wanted to re-post a review of the CD that I did for my music website when it originally released awhile back. It's a really great collection of songs and this new version also has songs on it not on the version I reviewed.

If you shop at Target, just go to their little music kiosk and you should be able to hear song samples there.

 "All this fear it binds me up and ties me to the floor

I wish I wouldn't answer when it's knocking on the door
There's not a sparrow falls to the ground
You don't turn your head to the sound
Pick it up so sweetly in your hand"
~~"Worry" by Cindy Morgan

Regency Roads

I'd give almost anything right now for "50 miles of good road." With all the road construction going on lately, you realize you sometimes take good roads for granted, ...whether they are Regency roads, or not.

When the roads get put back together, I'll be grateful. For now, I'll trod them carefully, and with just a little angst that mine are not Regency ones with country paths for stretching with rests from the travel between Regency miles. Once again, born in the wrong era!

"It must be very agreeable 

for her to be settled within 

so easy a distance of 

her own family and friends."

"An easy distance, do you call it? 

It is nearly fifty miles."

"And what is fifty miles of good road? 

Little more than half a day's journey. 

Yes, I call it a very easy distance."

~~Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 32

Every Girl Wants to Be the Fairy Tale

Every girl wants to be the fairy tale. I remember seeing these Vogue photos by Annie Leibovitz on other sites before, and just being stunned by the sheer beauty. First published in 2005, they show the story of, "Beauty and the Beast."

 Layer upon layer of decandent photography, for lack of a better term.

The 1995 "Pride and Prejudice," with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle had the same kind of decadence, 

if you know what I mean.

Want more? There's also one for Alice in Wonderland.
Click here for an older post. 

And more at this site. And don't forget Shalott.

I Left It There

My heart is in the trees.

I think I left it there as I walked

Beneath their branches,

Heavy with leaves and nests,

Tall and stretching to heaven.

Rooted strong and thick,

Shimmering in sunlight. 

They had me at hello.
~~Bookishkind

"Why are there trees I never walk under
But large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?"
~Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass, 1892

To the Hollyhock

I got to walk in Hollyhocks today. So lovely. It's like stepping back 100 years ago. I'm not sure why Hollyhocks seem such an old fashioned flower, but they do, and they are.

To the Hollyhock -

Sweet and pink, long and tall,

Surrounding like a fortress wall,

One hundred and some years ago,

Quaint and lovely, just as now.

~~Bookishkind

Surrender

Google images

The faucet is on full blast right now.
Spilling out so fast, I can hardly contain the overflow. Easily it pours out, a welcome flood.
Let the flood come and wash me in it's path.
I surrender.

Already Flowers Here

Tomorrow, I am going back to the grove I visited exactly one year ago last summer, where there were paths and paths of gorgeous flowers. But there are already flowers here.

'Tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes!'
~William Wordsworth, 

"Lines Written in Early Spring," Lyrical Ballads, 1798

August Fundraiser

I am kicking off an August Fundraiser in the bookshop to help raise research money for my great-niece who has a motor neuron disease. During August, all of the proceeds from books will be donated for research into her disease. If you like books, and this is something you'd be interested in, feel free to shop the bookstore. Thanks so much!

Walden Cottage

I have named the little cabin, "Walden Cottage."

 It will never be mine, but I do get to drive past it all of the time. Truly the summer of Thoreau.

"Most of the luxuries 

and many of the so-called 

comforts of life are not only 

not indispensable, but positive 

hindrances to the elevation 

of mankind." - Walden

Wanderers

 

I don't understand these youth who come straight out of the pocket,

And know right where they are heading.

I only know how to obey the call of the wanderers, 

Who don't even know they've been wandering, 

And have only now reached the shore.

Their story is deeper, though harder, stronger, though longer. 

It weaves and strays onto paths that take years to untangle from, 

Still, it has them where they are today. 

They have bloomed, though lately.

~Copyright 2011, Bookish Kind

Photo by John William Waterhouse - "Ophelia" 1889

Everything Told of the Sea

"Having come so fresh to the sea, I have got but little salted."
"As I looked over the water, I saw the isles rapidly wasting away , the sea nibbling voraciously at the continent."
"Every landscape which is dreary enough has a certain beauty to my eyes, and in this instance its permanent qualities were enhanced by the weather."
"Everything told of the sea...sometimes the rib of a whale was woven into the fence by the roadside."
 "The owner of these trees invariably used the personal pronoun in speaking of them ; as, "I got him out of the woods, but he doesn't bear."
"Such spots can be beautiful only to the returning native, not to him who has just come out of the woods."

But he did find it beautiful, after all.

This was never intended to be the summer of Thoreau, but you move with the tides, so to speak. I just bought this old copy of his book, "Cape Cod," after discovering a paperback version of it which I am currently reading. I am only on page 42, and already have several favorite quotes. What "Walden," is to woods, "Cape Cod," is to the sea. You can read it online here.

"We do not associate the idea of antiquity with the ocean, nor wonder how it looked a thousand years ago, as we do of the land, for it was equally wild and unfathomable always."
"On the whole, we were glad of the storm, which would show us the ocean in its angriest mood."

My Book Footprint - I Love the Wandering

 We all leave a trail of books behind us, even as we look ahead to the next one. You find them in various places and they become yours, at least for the moment. You take a risk with something new and it becomes a new favorite, or you discover an author you have not read before, and it opens up a whole slew of new books to discover. Then there are the ones you think you'll like and they end up being ones you can't quite get through, or you put them down and intend to read them one day, but sadly never do, even though you want to.

The intake and outtake of books is fascinating to me, and I am sure if I had a book trail with footprints to show where I had wandered, it would be interesting, to say the least. My book footprint would show trails that path through literature, biographies, history, and poetry, mostly. Even there, the trail would jag off in many different directions, as I found my way through to discover the books I love. Not surprisingly, I am still on the trail, leaving footprints daily. Surely my path is retraced and backtracked in my discoveries.

But I love the wandering, the adventure that the walking through affords. I wouldn't take the back steps back, for they have me where I am today. Making the most of the journey, while I add a treasure here and there to my shelf, and let go of some that no longer mean the world anymore.

Treasures can change just like people change. But really, not so much.

 Photo credits

John Elk III - Johnson's Shut-Ins State Park During Autumn, Missouri

sorrythankyou79  -Anne Books

Arthur Rackham - Undancey