Morning Rays · 365 Project

Morning Rays by Rondi Aastrup · 365 Project

lyrics by Eleanor Farjean

Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for the springing fresh from the word

Sweet the rain's new fall, sunlit from heaven
Like the first dewfall on the first grass
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where his feet pass

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God's recreation of the new day

The sun was streaming through a misty spot this morning, right in front of my front door.  I love how it poured through the mist and the tree leaves to create a lovely feel.  The sight brought to my mind this inspiring hymn that I first remember hearing when I was in high school (more than a few years ago).

Looking at the Sky

by Anne Porter I never will have time I never will have time enough To say How beautiful it is The way the moon Floats in the air As easily And lightly as a bird Although she is a world Made all of stone. I never will have time enough To praise The way the stars Hang glittering in the dark Of steepest heaven Their dewy sparks Their brimming drops of light So fresh so clear That when you look at them It quenches thirst. I have felt this way several times lately.  I feel as if there is never enough time for the good and beautiful things.  And yet even the glimpses, the brief moments, can suffice when that's all I have...

Christmas in February! · 365 Project

Christmas in February! by Rondi Aastrup · 365 Project

My sister gave me this Amaryllis bulb for Christmas. It made the flight from Boston to Phoenix after Christmas and then sat in its box for a few weeks until I planted it. I didn't have a good place for it inside, so put it out on my front patio where it would get the morning sun. Only trouble is that it was still quite cool overnight and in the morning before the sun come up and over the wall. As a result, the bulb was very slow in growing and only now is blooming! The paper whites were not quite as slow, but they lasted quite awhile in the coolness.

Schoolroom Poets

This week was the birthday of two of the four New England Poets also known as the Schoolroom Poets, the Fireside Poets, and the New England Brahmins:  James Russell Lowell and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.  Coincidentally, my American literature classes were studying them this week, supporting the idea that these poets are still studied in (some) schoolrooms.  I have written about Longfellow several times over the years, but haven't really mentioned the others.  Longfellow seems to be my go-to poet of the four, but I do like the others too--as much for their contributions to life in general as for their poetry.

Oliver Wendell Holmes and John Greenleaf Whittier are the other two who make up this interesting quartet.  As poets go, these two made more impact in other areas than in poetry--Holmes in the area of medicine and Whittier in the area of civil rights (abolition of slavery).  And yet, a Holmes poem saved "Old Ironsides," though, and we know what it was like to be snowbound in New England because of Whittier.


Sunday was Lowell's birthday.  Lowell, who with his friend Holmes, co-founded the prestigious and influential Atlantic Monthly, and was responsible for launching the careers of many a writer.  Here's a poem of his that speaks to me:

Auspex


My heart, I cannot still it,
Nest that had song-birds in it;
And when the last shall go,
The dreary days to fill it,
Instead of lark or linnet,
Shall whirl dead leaves and snow.
Had they been swallows only,
without the passion stronger
That skyward longs and sings,--
Woe's me, I shall be lonely
When I can feel no longer
the impatience of their wings!
A moment, sweet delusion,


Like birds the brown leaves hover;
But it will not be long
Before their wild confusion
Fall wavering down to cover
The poet and his song.