the soul selects her own society

emily dickinson

thanksgiving table setting: victoria thorne design

photo: rick e. martin for the mercury news

acts of light

there are no shelves like joan's:

pure
bliss

thank you, dear friend

for halcyon skies

happy fourth of july

poem: emily dickinson. spoon & fork: design, victoria thorne; photography, rick martin. 

That Oceans are—and Prayer—

emily

image: here

yes,

i've mentioned this before:

the end of summer.

tomorrow, for us, it is

official. school starts.

of course, the weather

today took a turn for the

top of the thermometer (as

it so often does the week the

empty classrooms creak open

again). so much, i now realize,

to look forward to. so many good

things to look back upon. all in all:

it's been quite lovely, hasn't it?

a Quietness distilled

As Twilight long begun

As imperceptibly as Grief
The Summer lapsed away—
Too imperceptible at last
To seem like Perfidy—
A Quietness distilled
As Twilight long begun,
Or Nature spending with herself
Sequestered Afternoon—
The Dusk drew earlier in—
The Morning foreign shone—
A courteous, yet harrowing Grace,
As Guest, that would be gone—
And thus, without a Wing
Or service of a Keel
Our Summer made her light escape
Into the Beautiful.

emily dickinson

that said: joy

Although I don't spend too much time talking about this online, anyone who knows me knows that my family is my life. When I saw that Emily Dickinson had written "Home -- is the definition of God" it resonated beyond any explanation I could supply here.

That said (and it says it all for me), home is of utmost importance. As much joy as it brings to find things -- a chair, a house, a painting, a photograph, the work of an artist who sees things in such a way that it brings immeasurable happiness and beauty into other's lives -- the greatest joy I find is always, ever, looking into the faces (or just being near) those I love. Second to that is the joy of being near things (or finding things) that remind me of treasured times. And all of the (treasured times) things are humble. And will remain humble. In the long haul, that's what matters. I find that looking into those faces, reading the best words, spending time with those we love, being surrounded by humble things that bring joy, and perhaps -- if I am lucky -- being able to create some of that joy for someone else: that is the measure of life, it is home. And home, as Emily noted, is where we really need to be.

(This blog was started, as mentioned before, as a lark; an exercise in learning how to work blogger so that i could post about children's books. It took on a little life of it's own, and somehow changed mine. Only now mentioning all this because I suppose I will try to include more family...if they don't mind. For me, they are true home. And that definition.)

Here's hoping you have a magnificent weekend.

emily and the brontes via booktryst

"That’s the steel core

of a serenely fearless,

strong and independent-minded

woman expressing itself."

booktryst

(again: go, see)

emily dickinson

a little madness in the Spring

rancho on friday: bliss

The Sailor cannot see the North, but knows the Needle can.

"I smile when you suggest that I delay 'to publish' - that being foreign to my thought, as Firmament to fin.

If fame belonged to me, I could not excape her - if she did not, the longest day would pass me on the chase - and the approbation of my Dog, would forsake me - then. My Barefoot Rank is better.

You think my gait 'spasmodic.' I am in danger, Sir.

You think me 'uncontrolled.' I have no Tribunal. . . .

The Sailor cannot see the North, but knows the Needle can."

Emily Dickinson to Thomas Wentworth Higginson

June 7, 1862