Saturday, September 26, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Fall, won't you be my neighbor?
As it is nearing that time of year, my thoughts are consistently turning their attention towards Julian. It's the place I'll miss most, when I leave. It's tradition, and it brings a sense of harmonious calm, and comfort, when I think of the brisk, chill air, the wind in the russet-colored leaves, and the familiar faces of the local elderly folk who endure, day-in and day-out, the many tourists who draw near for that fine apple pie and a temporary mental dismissal of reality.
Fall is my favorite time of year. It boasts, humbly, of sweet, savory smells, blustery winds and coats and scarves of warm and endearing colors. It makes me think of Winnie the Pooh, and teases me with the wish for memories of FDR's fireside chats and the crackling of old radios as hundreds listened to the warmth of his benevolent voice. I ache for one of my grandfather's soft, gentle hugs as we curled up together on his sofa chair, him reading an old western aloud, and I (a child of five) listening to the age and wisdom which rang clearly throughout his sweet, old-man voice. I can't stop thinking about him, and the opportunities I've lost, in hearing the sound of his voice ring true once more.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Let's be reasonable.
I could never get up the nerve to do it myself, but if ever someone is ingenious enough to purchase one of these for me, I should be forever content. Everyone could use a nice pillow companion!
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Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Daffodils
I read this in class yesterday, and underwent immediate transformation into the life of a happier and more content individual. Wordsworth, there's no way you weren't a ladies man.
"Daffodils"
[Willie Wordsworth]
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
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