This morning on the beach I noticed an unusual piece of junk. The sea had given back this rusted, antique Remington typewriter. Oh, the curiosities that came to mind! Maybe a writer had tossed it overboard in a moment of frustration. Maybe a storm swept it in from a foreign land. Maybe it was Hemingway’s. …
It’s been a long time since my last post. Many golden hours have come and gone. I must tell you why I’ve been gone. On the day of the spring equinox — my husband’s favourite day of the year, when the season holds the promise of birds migrating back to their nesting grounds, and new …
One of the best things I did last year was keep a Happiness Jar. The intent was to capture small moments of joy, as an exercise of appreciation and gratitude. Some people keep a journal, but I liked the idea of filling an empty jar. Last night, during the final few hours of 2015, I …
I love old things with soul. Old, soulful, worn but still purposeful objects from another time and place that have been loved before. I am drawn to certain of these things by an irresistible force of nature. One of these soulful old things beckoned to me yesterday. I was out for my usual Saturday walk, …
“Good timber does not grow with ease:
The stronger wind, the stronger trees;
The further sky, the greater length;
The more the storm, the more the strength.
By sun and cold, by rain and snow,
In trees and men good timbers grow.”
Douglas Malloch, American Poet
This post inspired today by a gentle comment in Humans of New York.
Full poem by Douglas Malloch here.
February 5, 2015