"Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakens."


Carl Jung

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On The Nightstand
  • Animal Dreams: A Novel
    Animal Dreams: A Novel
  • Peterson Field Guide to Bird Sounds of Eastern North America (Peterson Field Guides)
    Peterson Field Guide to Bird Sounds of Eastern North America (Peterson Field Guides)
  • Birds Art Life: A Year of Observation
    Birds Art Life: A Year of Observation
  • A Wolf Called Romeo
    A Wolf Called Romeo
  • Drawing Lab for Mixed-Media Artists: 52 Creative Exercises to Make Drawing Fun (Lab Series)
    Drawing Lab for Mixed-Media Artists: 52 Creative Exercises to Make Drawing Fun (Lab Series)
Wednesday
Jan182017

With Your Arms Open

 


'There are things you can't reach . But you can reach out to them, and all day long.

The wind, the bird flying away. The idea of god.

And It could keep you busy as anything else, and happier.

I look; morning to night I am never done with looking.

Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around as though with your arms open."

(Mary Oliver)
Saturday
Jan072017

Seeds

 

 

“Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant.” 

 
― Robert Louis Stevenson

Monday
Jan022017

Snowy Night

 

 Last night, an owl
in the blue dark
tossed
an indeterminate number
of carefully shaped sounds into
the world, in which, 
a quarter of a mile away, I happened
to be standing.
I couldn’t tell
which one it was –
the barred or the great-horned
ship of the air –
it was that distant. But, anyway, 
aren’t there moments
that are better than knowing something, 
and sweeter? Snow was falling, 
so much like stars
filling the dark trees
that one could easily imagine
its reason for being was nothing more
than prettiness. I suppose
if this were someone else’s story
they would have insisted on knowing
whatever is knowable – would have hurried
over the fields
to name it – the owl, I mean.
But it’s mine, this poem of the night, 
and I just stood there, listening and holding out
my hands to the soft glitter
falling through the air. I love this world, 
but not for its answers.
And I wish good luck to the owl, 
whatever its name –
and I wish great welcome to the snow, 
whatever its severe and comfortless
and beautiful meaning. 

(mary oliver)

 

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