We never will be done…

Every leaf on every branch of every tree in the forest
dances to a different tune
Every star that twinkles with a million-year-old light
looks all the way into you
Every bit of foam on every wave in every sea
likes to know that you are here
And every moment of a lifetime in eternity
offers up its own opportunity

Every brick in every wall we build to keep us apart
cries to be taken down
every lie we ever told and all that we believed
hide from us now

we’re stalking something wild and empty
without a penny, or a gun
we’re following the trail of something free, and
we never will be done
we never will be done

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Cut Flowers


Not in blue vases these
Nor white, cut flowers are seen
But in the August meadows
When the reaper falls clean —
And the shining and ridged rows
Of cut stalks show to the eye
As if some child’s hand there
Had ranged them, and passed by
To other rows, other swathes,
Moondaisies, pimpernel,
Eyebright, sorrel, the paths
Are shining, the heaps as well.
Violets in spring, are
In vases, a sweet heap
Better leave them by far
Under hedgerows or banks to keep.
Daffodills, wallflowers, Daisies
Of Michaelmas Time let still
Also, no gathering-crazes
Should spoil the sweet Spring-time’s will
Daisies best left alone,
Chrysanthemums of chill
Evenings of Autumn, gone
Soon to cold Winters will.
At the full garden-folk
Leave in their beds, but if
Under the steely yoke
They must be gathered, With
Cruelty of no need.
Then lay them in wide pans,
Or open jars; agreed
Best pottery that is man’s,
Wall-flowers, violets
Sweetest of flowers bring in
To the four walls, the china-sets
And table clean as a pin.
By books and pictures lay
These wild things cruelly tamed
Taken from the blowing day
Exiled, uprooted, hurt, lamed.
That the hedgerows miss and the copse —
O if flowers must be cut
To spoil an earth-plot’s hopes.
Take them with eyes shut.
Or give a small coin or two
To Children who may not care
So much as grown-ups should do —
Cut flowers in vases rare —
Pottery rounded with these
(Best of all) or with no care
Ranged in may-hap degrees
In wide pot or any jar —
Gather them, pluck not, please.
                                               Ivor Gurney (1890-1937) 

Springtime Sketchbook

I don’t remember ever seeing as many flowers as I’ve seen this Spring. Daffodils, tulips, pansies, posies, hyacinth, daisies, and morning glories. You can’t swing a dead cat in this town without hitting one.

“It’s spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you’ve got it, you want—oh, you don’t quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!” 
Mark Twain





The daffodils have been especially brilliant and breathtaking. Madison Square Park alone has over fifty varieties of daffodils blooming in it. I only knew of one daffodil before reading the story of the 3 million daffodil bulbs that were planted in NYC after September 11, 2001 as a living memorial.


“If winter comes, can spring be far behind?”
Percy Bysshe Shelley





The removal of the Bank of America Winter Village from Bryant Park is always one of the highlights of the year for me. The new lawn is in and even though you can’t sit on it yet you can sit around it and breathe it in. We gather mid-day like animals around an oasis.



“It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.”


Ranier Maria Rilke

“When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.” 
Ernest Hemingway