Archive for keats
One life,-a little gleam of time between two Eternities.
“The poetry of the earth is never dead.” ~John Keats
Each morning I rise early to let the dogs out. They frolic around my acre as I scour the lay of the land for the new, the unusual, the “hey, what is that?” and the “woah, that wasn’t there yesterday.”
Each day, no matter how similar, is completely different if you take the time to truly see.
I was sitting under my favorite Frickin Tree (so named because I photograph him/her every single day) and turned over one of the fallen branches beneath it and found this gathering of beetles. I love the yellow one in the middle of it all.
Spring is finally well and truly here and my photographs are multiplying exponentially as are the colors.
What I notice about the spring is how similar it is to fall, there aren’t many leaves on the trees and if you look at a hilly range you will see the same crimsons and yellows as fall as the trees bud out.
This year the Maples are flowering and I feel so lucky to be here, in the middle of it all.
I walk out the door. It’s Monday. It’s April. It’s Central New York. It’s complicated. The wild fields lie flat, the color of wet straw, felled first by frost then snow now sleet and rain and wind. The ground is still stiff with permafrost, daily softening. Nearest the brook lies some hopeful green. Mud season again when the earth speaks in secrets. I find a jawbone, a saucer, a small skull, the bottom of a clay vase. A lawnmower once hidden by waist high burdocks. I don’t hope to recover whats been truly lost, those things that live on in my heart. I don’t hope. It’s enough to collect the bones between snow banks and rocks, between winter and spring.
“Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and trouble is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?” ~John Keats
Via Kevin Sessums: “John Keats penned this in 1819, to George and Georgina Keats in a letter that has become known as The Vale of Soul-Making.”