Thursday, January 10, 2013

when the inner things happen



by D.H. Lawrence

I am myself at last; now I achieve
My very self, I, with the wonder mellow,
Full of fine warmth, I issue forth in clear
And single me, perfected from my fellow.

Here I am all myself. No rose-bush heaving
Its limpid sap to culmination has brought
Itself more sheer and naked out of the green
In stark-clear roses, than I to myself am brought.

In a way Winter is the real Spring - the time when the inner things happen, the resurgence of nature. 

 ~ Edna O'Brien

A dozen roses from Safeway, each one unique, each one seems to have its very own personality. The skies have been grey, so Rob hasn't been able to work his own particular magic with them. Hoping for a sunny patch today at about 11am when the sun is momentarily high enough to come into the kitchen windows at the rear of the house. The houses in the suburbs, too tall, too close together. In winter this is most evident.

I think it holds true for me - that winter is when the inner things happen. There is even the feeling, mid-winter, that it would be better to go on wintering - there is the wish that the spell of winter not be broken.

1 comment:

  1. I love your posts, the poems, the photographs, the asides, thank you so much for taking the time to do them.


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