I repotted some trees on the weekend, trees I was freely given that were bursting out of their cheap green plastic pots. The picture was one of those trees in autumn, and it is not yet early spring, but the potting called to mind this poem in any case. It’s so true. We may consider
I have been spared another day to come into this night as though there is a mercy in things mindful of me. ~ Wendell Berry A Poem of Thanks A little poetry for a Friday evening.
I had book club at my house Friday night. The deal is that when you host you get to choose the book. I always feel a certain amount of angst over this because I feel like my book choices are eccentric, but I chose The Course of Love by Alain de Botton. The truth is
Oh, the best laid plans and all … I actually had a silly drama getting to that bush walk on Saturday, which I mostly created myself, such that I missed the first two kilometres of it, and I was going to write what would probably have turned into a long story, but in the end
A new beginning calls for a return to old beginnings and my dearest literary friend Christina Rossetti. There has not been enough poetry, either in my life or on the blog, of late, so here I will place one. I’ve alluded before to the idea of the desert blooming as the rose (which one day