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.