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Thursday, May 9, 2002

Another rainy morning--how many can we possibly have? Warmer, though, but I think that will change. It's hard not to be depressed by the weather.

Here's an original for today:

For Your Mother, Mourning

No words
Silence, all

From darkness
Yet light

Eternally safe
His sudden smile

So many stars
Infinite, all.

Copyright © 1997 Cathy A. Dee. All rights reserved.

Link for Today
A new poem every day, birthdays of writers and artists, a quiet moment--visit MPR's The Writer's Almanac. Garrison Keillor is the host.

We return to the classics

Through the rain this morning, a strange, transparent light that made the grass and leaves glow. Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) says it so well:

A Light Exists in Spring

A light exists in spring
Not present on the year
At any other period.
When March is scarcely here

A color stands abroad
On solitary hills
That science cannot overtake,
But human nature feels.

It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.

Then, as horizons step,
Or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
It passes, and we stay:

A quality of loss
Affecting our content,
As trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a sacrament.

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