Thursday, February 28, 2013
Thursday, February 21, 2013
What I am reading
1. this great blog on THE FOUR QUARTETS that I went to at Duke Chapel in January:
Generative Fragments: Four Collaborative Movements on QU4RTETS
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Monday, February 11, 2013
Weekend over
It was fun!
Emma on the far right with two friends at the cast party.
I teach all of these wonderful, fun girls.
the whole cast: ( Emma in the middle with the same two girls to her left)
Thursday, February 7, 2013
LITTLE WOMEN
Performance tonight and tomorrow night.
Musical Theater.
Emma is in the ballroom dancing scene and is a hag.
#3 from the right:
in the middle top row with grey hair under the mask:
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
winter poem
Ode to Winter
We hoard light, hunkered in holt and burrow,
in cave, cwtsh, den, earth, hut, lair.
Sun blinks. Trees take down their hair.
Dusk wipes horizons, seeps into the room,
the last flame of geranium in the gloom.
In the shortening day, bring in the late flowers
to crisp in a vase, beech to break into leaf,
a branch of lark. Take winter by the throat.
Feed the common birds, tits and finches,
the spotted woodpecker in his opera coat.
Let’s learn to love the icy winter moon,
or moonless dark and winter constellations,
Jupiter’s glow, a slow, incoming plane,
neighbourly windows,someone’s flickering screen,
a lamp-lit page, drawn curtains.
Let us praise intimacy, talk and books,
music and silence, wind and rain,
the beautiful bones of trees, taste of cold air,
darkening fields, the glittering city,
that winter longing, hiraeth, something like prayer.
Under the stilled heartbeat of trees,
wind-snapped branches, mulch and root,
a million bluebell bulbs lie low
ready to flare in lengthening light,
after the dark, the frozen earth, the snow.
Out there, fox and buzzard, kite and crow
are clearing the ground for the myth.
On the darkest day bring in the tree,
cool and pungent as forest. Turn up the music.
Pour us a glass. Dress the house in pagan finery.
Gillian Clarke
( National Poet of Wales)
Found on this blog :
Cait O'Connor
I live in the heart of rural Wales in an old blacksmith's cottage with five acres of land that includes a river and the old forge. I am slowly creating quite a nature reserve here. My passions? Books, poetry (both the reading and the writing of), genealogy. Photography, music, Ireland, which is my spiritual home and Wales,my actual home
We hoard light, hunkered in holt and burrow,
in cave, cwtsh, den, earth, hut, lair.
Sun blinks. Trees take down their hair.
Dusk wipes horizons, seeps into the room,
the last flame of geranium in the gloom.
In the shortening day, bring in the late flowers
to crisp in a vase, beech to break into leaf,
a branch of lark. Take winter by the throat.
Feed the common birds, tits and finches,
the spotted woodpecker in his opera coat.
Let’s learn to love the icy winter moon,
or moonless dark and winter constellations,
Jupiter’s glow, a slow, incoming plane,
neighbourly windows,someone’s flickering screen,
a lamp-lit page, drawn curtains.
Let us praise intimacy, talk and books,
music and silence, wind and rain,
the beautiful bones of trees, taste of cold air,
darkening fields, the glittering city,
that winter longing, hiraeth, something like prayer.
Under the stilled heartbeat of trees,
wind-snapped branches, mulch and root,
a million bluebell bulbs lie low
ready to flare in lengthening light,
after the dark, the frozen earth, the snow.
Out there, fox and buzzard, kite and crow
are clearing the ground for the myth.
On the darkest day bring in the tree,
cool and pungent as forest. Turn up the music.
Pour us a glass. Dress the house in pagan finery.
Gillian Clarke
( National Poet of Wales)
Found on this blog :
Cait O'Connor
I live in the heart of rural Wales in an old blacksmith's cottage with five acres of land that includes a river and the old forge. I am slowly creating quite a nature reserve here. My passions? Books, poetry (both the reading and the writing of), genealogy. Photography, music, Ireland, which is my spiritual home and Wales,my actual home
Monday, February 4, 2013
culture care
17 1/2 inches by 17 1/2 inches.
This was Emily Dickinson’s desk.
Makoto Fujimura says this is all the space one needs to change culture. He reminds us to create in quiet – to usher in holy by letting the soil ruminate.
read the rest here ~
This should bring us great encouragement.
Friday, February 1, 2013
friday
Checking in here.
It seemed like yesterday was friday because it was my husband's birthday.
We celebrated with Italian : out to dinner.
So I think going out during the week for a really nice dinner made me think of the weekend.
It was Thursday.
Still in THE FOUR QUARTETS ( TS ELIOT).
I finished the poem before going to Duke Chapel on Monday to see the exhibit and hear the talks and the composition: At the Still Point.
Here are some of the books I am in:
HERE IS THE BOOK ON SALE AT
HEARTS AND MINDS BOOKSHOP
AND AN EXCELLENT REVIEW
Thomas Howard is Elizabeth Elliot's brother. This book makes me sing.
Another really good study after you have read the poem:
The sky is this color and the air is cold today.
Fire going.
Hearthside.
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