September 2009
http://www.flickr.com/photos/mindollie/
It is March, W. S. Merwin
It is March and black dust falls out of the books Soon I will be gone The tall spirit who lodged here has Left already On the avenues the colorless thread lies under Old prices When you look back there is always the past Even when it has vanished But when you look forward With your dirty knuckles and the wingless Bird on your shoulder What can you write The bitterness is still rising in the old...
Listen
New Every Morning
Every day is a fresh beginning, Listen my soul to the glad refrain. And, spite of old sorrows And older sinning, Troubles forecasted And possible pain, Take heart with the day and begin again.
“The third boy was the most exotic of the set. Angular and elegant, he was...”
– Donna Tartt, The Secret History
