I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for
going out, I found, was really going in.................John Muir
So do we pass the ghosts that haunt us later in our lives; they sit
undramatically by the roadside like poor beggars, and we see them only from the
corners of our eyes, if we see them at all. The idea that they have been waiting
there for us rarely crosses our minds. Yet they do wait, and when we have
passed, they gather up their bundles of memory and fall in behind, treading in
our footsteps and catching up, little by little..........Stephen King, Dark Tower Set
The morning heat had already soaked through the walls, rising up from the floor
like a ghost of summers past.............Erik Tomblin, Riverside Blues
Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm,
but to add color to my sunset sky.................Rabindranath Tagore
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go -- so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, 'There is no memory of him here!'
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go -- so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, 'There is no memory of him here!'
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
One summer night, out on a flat headland, all but surrounded by the waters of
the bay, the horizons were remote and distant rims on the edge of space.
Millions of stars blazed in darkness, and on the far shore a few lights burned
in cottages. Otherwise there was no reminder of human life. My companion and I
were alone with the stars: the misty river of the Milky Way flowing across the
sky, the patterns of the constellations standing out bright and clear, a blazing
planet low on the horizon. It occurred to me that if this were a sight that
could be seen only once in a century, this little headland would be thronged
with spectators. But it can be seen many scores of nights in any year, and so
the lights burned in the cottages and the inhabitants probably gave not a
thought to the beauty overhead; and because they could see it almost any night,
perhaps they never will.............Rachel Carson
The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the
live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its
turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and
those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is
motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and
glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color...........Natalie Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting
No comments:
Post a Comment