Tag: Spring

  • 520

    Now and then it’s good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy. Apollinaire

  • 518

    Wield your phenomena, Life. Go on and on for all days. Stay, last. Prolong this is my request.

  • 517: That Time in Gion

    Find renewal daily in the ordinary. Reconcile with the risk of correction. Seek astonishment in the world and by that nectar be thriven. Cleverness yields no such nourishment.

  • 380

    And at last over the hill peered forth the smiling sun, to warm the bedrock of blank expression with its yellow touch. Under a glaze of Winter pearls the sleeping Spring buds stir, and the Earth prepares to welcome new life, fresh hope and young joy, to play, free and unhindered among the florets drenched […]

  • 126: The window

    I have been several uncompressed days, without an account of my becoming, and delighting in the contours and tone of a new morning sky has long been increments clear of reach. For those wonton days leave little to heave upon the pages then, and all the disenthralled while I was courting distraction has Nature borne […]

  • 124: When it rains

    It arrives odd hours my sweeping inspirations; a torrential outpouring that, warrantless rains hard with no remark to my good pattern and springs me from recess semi-witted, into duty. A catch or two o’ the break would keep me in high cheer and portly health for days, and so fretting about the cabin, sought a […]

  • 119: Wet the day

    ”Ye province of revolutions lure; preserving heights where ecstasy brews, Of relic agreements furious homecoming, riding hymns of deep-set change, Savage and sweeping the entire. Instincts bowed to primal charms palpable loom.” As though with impatience pregnant at the oppression, the sun rushed from a corner early and determined, finding differently few or none with […]

  • 93

    No Spring will come to whom does not bring it along, nor sleep, whom does not dream.

  • 80: Farewell the Winter

    Can such things be, and apprehend like a Winter Sun? From its highest seat entirety is touched. Woe into dew thaws, the intellect has no answer at last. An eye cannot bear to blink. No face is unfelt of its warmth, no heart left uncheered beneath, nor does any farewell quite endear, as when it […]

  • 68

    It begs the alert of my tardiest self, how people can appreciateĀ so little for their gift of time that examine how I manage to make so much of mine. It is not that we’ve a slender allocation, or for my part, must have wrung the greater share, but simply; well spent is spare enough. The […]