Tree Swallow, Buttercup Farm
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
—W. B. Yeats, from The Lake Isle of Innisfree
It’s May, and the weather has turned springlike, though in fits and starts. Local gardens available to the public have begun to open, among them Innisfree. It’s time, then, to arise and take a break from blogging and, to an extent, the internet for a while. Continue reading
One must have a mind of winter
Snow left by the blizzard has receded here, but the cold continues on. We view the landscape from the warm side of the window, venturing out only as our needs require. Continue reading
John Ashbery at Kelly Writers House 2-11-13 (photograph by Al Filreis)
. . . as you realized once again
That the longest way is the most efficient way,
The one that looped among islands, and
You always seemed to be traveling in a circle.
[Just Walking Around]
I was lost. It’s not uncommon. It looked like Locust Walk, but though I walked on and on, the place I was looking for was nowhere to be seen. I approached a student, a really nice guy. An MBA candidate, well qualified to set me straight. “You’re walking parallel to it. I’m going your way, so come with me.” Continue reading