Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Monday, July 29, 2013

Friday, July 26, 2013

Friday 7/26/13

The snake

A narrow fellow in the grass
Occasionally rides;
You may have met him, - did you not?
His notice sudden is.

The grass divides as with a comb,
A spotted shaft is seen;
And then it closes at your feet
And opens further on.

He likes a boggy acre,
A floor too cool for corn.
Yet when a child and barefoot,
I more than once, at morn,

Have passed, I thought, a whip-lash,
Unbraiding in the sun, -
When, stooping to secure it,
It wrinkled and was gone.

Several of nature's people
I know, and they know me;
I feel for them a transport
Of cordiality.

But never met this fellow,
Attended or alone,
Without a tighter breathing,
And zero at the bone.

Emily Dickinson

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Friday, July 19, 2013

Friday 7/19/13

A Little Lyric (Of Great Importance)

I wish the rent
was heaven sent.

Langston Hughes

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Monday, July 15, 2013

Friday, July 12, 2013

Friday 7/12/13

The wings of the ostrich flap joyfully,
but they cannot compare with the pinions and feathers of the stork.

She lays her eggs on the ground
and lets them warm in the sand,
unmindful that a foot may crush them.

She treats her young harshly, as if they were not hers;
she cares not that her labor was in vain,
for God did not endow her with wisdom
or give her a share of good sense.

Yet when she spreads her feathers to run,
she laughs at horse and rider.

Job 39:13-18

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Wednesday, July 10, 2013