Saturday, 28 July 2007

Frosty mornings

A veil of mist mutes the distances, crisp white blankets the grass -- my world has gone monocrhome.



Words to walk with:
82 by Emily Dickinson
"There’s a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the weight
Of cathedral tunes.

Heavenly hurt it gives us;
We can find no scar,
But internal difference
Where the meanings are.

None may teach it anything,
’T is the seal, despair,—
An imperial afflictionS
ent us of the air.

When it comes, the landscape listens,
Shadows hold their breath;
When it goes, ’t is like the distance
On the look of death."

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