Life in the Slow Lane

Contemplating life, faith, words, and memories

The Wild Swans at Coole by William Butler Yeats — October 26, 2023

The Wild Swans at Coole by William Butler Yeats

The Wild Swans at Coole

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.
 
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.
 
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
 
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
 
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
 
~ William Butler Yeats
 
Until Next Time,

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Source: The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats (1989)
 
Featured Image by Nick Fewings on Unsplash 
The Summer Day by Mary Oliver — September 14, 2023

The Summer Day by Mary Oliver

This has been one of those weeks. You know what I mean, don’t you? Whatever you had planned somehow did not get done. I dislike weeks or even days like this, but now and then something grasps your time and snatches it from your keeping and you lose control.

During weeks like this one and the one just before, I often lose my timing for my Wednesday blog post. If something comes to mind that I can share with you, I’ll post it on another day and hope that you derive something from it. Continue reading

Midnight Visitor — July 6, 2022
Dancing in the Rain — June 15, 2022

Dancing in the Rain

Summer weather is stalling here in the Pacific Northwest. A day here or there. Maybe two. Yet we are still waiting for warmer days.
 
Weather predictions of an atmospheric river brought in rain showers last Friday. The large magnificent rhododendron blossoms we had watched open didn’t last long. Intermittent heavy rain showers changed them quickly.

Continue reading

On Winter’s Margin by Mary Oliver — April 13, 2022

On Winter’s Margin by Mary Oliver

Sitting here in the Pacific NW in mid-April, dark gray days with rain one day, snow the next. Sometimes wind and thunderstorms. Dumping of hail yesterday; it lingers still. I watch for nature’s population. Mary Oliver had a unique perspective on nature as can be seen in her poem, On Winter’s Margin.

I had another post underway for today, but our weather patterns in Oregon have been rather strange. Maybe they are mystifying where you live as well. One day last week we enjoyed a sunny day with a temperature of 75. Then our weather predictors began talking snow from the height of the mountains down to the valley floor where we live. My first paragraph above describes this week, so far. These conditions drew me to Oliver’s poem.

Now sit back and enjoy Mary Oliver’s poem. As always, Oliver fills her stanzas with an understanding of shadow and light both in nature and in human nature.

Sherrey

 

Featured Image Attribution:  Photo by Valentin Hintikka on Unsplash 

 



ON WINTER'S MARGIN by Mary Oliver

On winter’s margin, see the small birds now
With half-forged memories come flocking home
To gardens famous for their charity.
The green globe’s broken; vines like tangled veins
Hang at the entrance to the silent wood.

With half a loaf, I am the prince of crumbs;
By snow’s down, the birds amassed will sing
Like children for their sire to walk abroad!
But what I love, is the gray stubborn hawk
Who floats alone beyond the frozen vines;
And what I dream of are the patient deer
Who stand on legs like reeds and drink that wind; -

They are what saves the world: who choose to grow
Thin to a starting point beyond this squalor.

~~ From Famous Poets & Poems

 

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