A summer’s day

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow’st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

~ William Shakespeare, 1564 – 1616

summer's day

Vacation

We just returned from our summer vacation after visiting our son and his family. What a wonderful time that passed all too quickly. I found this poem that I wanted to share this morning. The picture is of our grandson Jack, who will be 7 in October. He loves life and it shows in all that he does.

“I love the hour before takeoff,
that stretch of no time, no home
but the gray vinyl seats linked like
unfolding paper dolls. Soon we shall
be summoned to the gate, soon enough
there’ll be the clumsy procedure of row numbers
and perforated stubs—but for now
I can look at these ragtag nuclear families
with their cooing and bickering
or the heeled bachelorette trying
to ignore a baby’s wail and the baby’s
exhausted mother waiting to be called up early
while the athlete, one monstrous hand
asleep on his duffel bag, listens,
perched like a seal trained for the plunge.
Even the lone executive
who has wandered this far into summer
with his lasered itinerary, briefcase
knocking his knees—even he
has worked for the pleasure of bearing
no more than a scrap of himself
into this hall. He’ll dine out, she’ll sleep late,
they’ll let the sun burn them happy all morning
—a little hope, a little whimsy
before the loudspeaker blurts
and we leap up to become
Flight 828, now boarding at Gate 17.”

Reprinted from On the Wing, published by the University of Iowa Press.

Jack

 

In one hour

“In just one hour from now, your world can be an entirely different place than it is this moment. You can make it a better place as a result of what you do with this time that you now have.

One hour from now, you can be well on your way toward your most treasured dream. One hour from now, you can experience the exhilarating freedom of moving surely and steadily beyond your most difficult challenge.

In just one hour from now, you can be looking back with satisfaction at how much you’ve been able to accomplish. In just one hour’s time, your whole attitude can be a thousand times more positive and productive than it is even now.

Yes, you could spend the next hour wandering aimlessly through a fog of anger, despair or frustration, and if you wish you’ll find plenty of excuses for doing so. Or you can really and truly live the next hour with energy and vitality, looking positively forward with the very best you have to give.

The next hour is absolutely critical, for it is the one over which you now have control. You have every reason, every resource and every ability to make it the very best you’ve ever lived.”

~ Ralph Marston

time-clock

 

Picking blueberrys

“Once, in summer,
In the blueberries,
I fell asleep, and woke
When a deer stumbled against me.

I guess
She was so busy with her own happiness
She had grown careless
And was just wandering along

Listening
To the wind as she leaned down
To lip up the sweetness.
So, there we were

With nothing between us
But a few leaves, and the wind’s
Glossy voice
Shouting instructions.

The deer
Backed away finally
And flung up her white tail
And went floating off toward the trees –

But the moment before she did that
Was so wide and so deep
It has lasted to this day;
I have only to think of her –

The flower of her amazement
And the stalled breath of her curiosity,
And even the damp touch of her solicitude
Before she took flight-

To be absent again from this world
And alive, again, in another,
For thirty years
sleepy and amazed,

Rising out of the rough weeds
Listening and looking.
Beautiful girl,
Where are you?”

~ Mary Oliver

Deer-Desktop