joy will find you

This is not the first time that Frost’s iconic poem has risen into my mind, in fact, just last week I reblogged a post from 2014, Horizons and Mountains Beckon where I quoted every stanza; I guess these lines are on repeat as all of Vermont is erupting in foliage brilliance as we step into October.

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.

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Fool’s Gold

Today’s headlines are doin nothin but causin fear and chaos over disaster and death. A hell-broth of fire storms from coast to coast and if you are like me, you are feeling staggering grief, little beyond grief.

Trump Again Refuses to Commit to Accepting Election Results” (New York Times). 

Trump Renews Mail Vote Attacks, Again Questions Reliability of Ballots” (Wall Street Journal).

Florida Supreme Court rules against Parkland families” (FOX News).

Breonna Taylor shooting: A 190-plus-day timeline shows how her death changed Louisville” (Courier Journal).

Missouri’s governor has refused to mandate masks. Now he’s tested positive for the coronavirus”  (Washington Post).

California Fire Map & Tracker” (San Fransisco Chronicle).

Thankfully there is an outdoors, away from most of this craziness, away to blue sky and open space. And here one can retreat to a place which acts as a reminder of the before days.

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Away From Words

This piece was first published on Sep 10, 2015. I thought it might be time to circle back, plus back to school means back to busy busy for me! If you’re a first time reader, let me know what you think, and if you’re on repeat, well, do the same! xxxooo

 

Man creates divisions. Labels and categories. Lists of ingredients that make up our individual peace or community discord. Political parties create further divergence and careers choices further separate our education, lifestyles, even viewpoints. Over here are our scientists, heralded as those to solve the unsolvable while the engineers continuously redesign our pathways and roadways and pipelines and even the vehicles that move us; labeling deems some as teachers in a school building while the rest are only students despite the grey lines these labels cross over within the school building. The law abiding stand on one side of the bars and those who transgress reside firmly on the other yet of late we too often must question the validity of each stance. Bound by these allotments we trudge through our dull days. Yet somehow, almost miraculously, living in defiance to every man-made divider are those that challenge the status quo: the artists existing among us. Instead of maintaining practicality and order, their daring shapes and colors mystify emotion and intellect. In an artist’s hands every medium is played with, messed up, combined anew to create a different vantage. For me, lingering in one sorrow, an afternoon to view the old masters to the new ones is like drinking a nutrient rich and satisfying smoothie, lifting me beyond compartmentalizing into a free floating joy.

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