Beauty — be not caused — It Is —
Chase it, and it ceases —
Chase it not, and it abides —
Overtake the Creases
In the Meadow — when the Wind
Runs his fingers thro’ it —
Deity will see to it
That You never do it —
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #654)
A lovely walk with friends down by the creek, dotted with fleeting spring ephemerals at every turn. The trees are leafing out and the sky was as blue as it gets.
People have no respect for impermanence. We take no delight in it; in fact, we despair of it. We regard it as pain. We try to resist it by making things that will last — forever, we say — things that we don’t have to wash, things that we don’t have to iron. Somehow, in the process of trying to deny that things are always changing, we lose our sense of the sacredness of life. We tend to forget that we are part of the natural scheme of things.
~ Pema Chödrön
(When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times)
And for an everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky —
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #466)
We are seeing, then, that our experience is altogether momentary. From one point of view, each moment is so elusive and so brief that we cannot even think about it before it has gone. From another point of view, this moment is always here, since we know no other moment than the present moment. It is always dying, always becoming past more rapidly than imagination can conceive. Yet at the same time it is always being born, always new, emerging just as rapidly from that complete unknown we call the future. Thinking about it almost makes you breathless.
~ Alan Watts
(The Wisdom of Insecurity: A Message for an Age of Anxiety)
The green-and-golds and the violet wood-sorrels were new wildflowers for me.
What I can do — I will —
Though it be little as a Daffodil —
That I cannot — must be
Unknown to possibility —
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #641)
They shut me up in Prose —
As when a little Girl
They put me in the Closet —
Because they liked me “still” —
Still! Could themself have peeped —
And seen my Brain — go round —
They might as wise have lodged a Bird
For Treason — in the Pound —
Himself has but to will
And easy as a Star
Look down opon Captivity —
And laugh — No more have I —
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #445)
Within my reach!
I could have touched!
I might have chanced that way!
Soft sauntered thro’ the village —
Sauntered as soft away!
So unsuspected Violets
Within the meadows go —
Too late for striving fingers
That passed, an hour ago!
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #69)
An atypical lovely September day dawned and invited us to explore another wonderful nature preserve. There we were delighted to find a labyrinth and two new kinds of butterflies. Tim was pondering how to describe his current style of walking, coming up with strolling, but not entirely satisfied with that word. Thinking of Thoreau, I suggested sauntering to him. He tried it on and used it a few times. Looked it up at home. It’s sticking.
🍃
The butterfly obtains
But little sympathy
Though favorably mentioned
In Entomology —
Because he travels freely
And wears a proper coat
The circumspect are certain
That he is dissolute
Had he the homely scutcheon
Of modest Industry
’Twere fitter certifying
For Immortality —
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1701)
🍃
We couldn’t get enough of the bright color of these red-spotted purples and couldn’t wait to get home to identify this butterfly!
There were hundreds of these satyrs flying around the labyrinth and nearby. They were tiny and didn’t stay still long enough for a good photo shoot.
To be honest, I forgot to think about ticks before taking this walk. Then, about half way through the walk we encountered three serious birders coming down the trail, carrying large camera lenses and binoculars. I noticed they all had their pants tucked into their socks, which jogged my memory and started me worrying since I had no tick repellent on.
Later that evening I felt a strong itch near my knee and the next morning saw the seed tick bite. Just one. Why do I never see an adult tick? Why do these invisible seed ticks get me every time??? (And never bother Tim…) But one bite is better endured than the 27 bites I got the first time this happened. I’ve got to learn to not let my guard down.
There comes a warning like a spy
A shorter breath of Day
A stealing that is not a stealth
And Summers are away —
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1560)
We tried out this trail on another lovely, low humidity day. We wound up getting lost and reluctantly decided to cut through somebody’s yard to get back to a road. Summer is fading away, as it always does, each day a minute or two shorter than the last. Emily’s poem has an added layer of meaning for me, now, as I take note of Tim’s breaths becoming shorter, too.
In lands I never saw — they say
Immortal Alps look down —
Whose Bonnets touch the firmament —
Whose sandals touch the town;
Meek at whose everlasting feet
A myriad Daisy play —
Which, Sir, are you, and which am I —
Opon an August day?
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #108)
If it had no pencil,
Would it try mine —
Worn — now — and dull — sweet,
Writing much to thee.
If it had no word —
Would it make the Daisy,
Most as big as I was —
When it plucked me?
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #184)