I will be the gladdest thing under the sun //
I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one //
I will look at cliffs and clouds with quiet eyes //
Watch the wind blow down the grass and the grass rise (Edna St. Vincent Millay)
"There were so many miracles at work: that a blossom might become a peach, that a bee could make honey in its thorax, that rain might someday fall. I thought then about the seasons changing, and in the gray of night I could almost will myself to see the azure sky, the gold of the maple leaves, the crimson of the ripe apples, the hoarfrost on the grass." -A Map of the World, Jane Hamilton
No comments:
Post a Comment