By D.H. Lawrence
This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.
I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.
And I, what fountain of fire am I among
This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed
About like a shadow buffeted in the throng
Of flames, a shadow that’s gone astray, and is lost.
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Our basement step is fixed. The laundry is folded. I am caught up on necessary work and have finished a Big Silly Project. There were two bunnies out enjoying the beautiful late afternoon weather when I walked. I copy-edited two vastly different projects for people while sorting beads with cat help. Amazon had Joyce Carol Oates' The Accursed for 99 cents so I bought it.
I am sure there are other things (the new Star Wars trailer looks awesome, Dig is such total crack that I can't look away) but I am completely behind again and it's midnight, so I will try to remember by tomorrow. Meanwhile here are some more flowers from Winterthur (I do have more Paris photos to post, but somehow the Montmartre pics got all out of order)!
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