Just a little inspiration on a Sunday evening. Blessings to all of you!
Nature looks dead in winter because her life is gathered into her heart. She withers the plant down to the root that she may grow it up again fairer and stronger. She calls her family together within her inmost home to prepare them for being scattered abroad upon the face of the earth. ~Hugh Macmillan
When the ages of ice came
And sealed the Earth inside
An endless coma of cold,
The heart of the Earth held hope,
Storing fragments of memory,
Ready for the return of the sun.
Let us then salute the silence
And certainty of mountains:
Their sublime stillness,
Their dream-filled hearts.
The wonder of a garden
Trusting the first warmth of spring
Until its black infinity of cells
Becomes charged with dream;
Then the silent, slow nurture
Of the seed’s self, coaxing it
To trust the act of death.
The humility of the Earth
That transfigures all
That has fallen
Of outlived growth.
~Edited excerpt from In Praise of Earth
by John O’Donohue
“As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night will never cease.” ~Genesis 8:22 ✝
**Image via Pinterest
Memory is a way of holding onto
the things we love,
the things we are,
the things we never want to lose.
~Kevin Arnold
The Coin
Into my heart’s treasury
I slipped a coin
That time cannot take
Nor a thief purloin, —
Oh better than the minting
Of a gold-crowned king
Is the safe-kept memory
Of a lovely thing.
~Sara Teasdale
A million feelings.
A thousand thoughts.
A hundred memories.
One person.
~Unknown
Memories are the timeless
treasures of our hearts.
~Unknown
I love those random memories
that make me smile no matter
what’s going on in my life.
~Unknown
I will perpetuate your memory through all generations; therefore nations will praise you (Lord) for ever and ever. ~Psalm 45:17 ✝
**Collages created from photos in my Scrapbooks
The night is darkening around me,
The wild winds coldly blow…
~Excerpt from a poem
by Emily Brontë
The world is resting without sound or motion,
And behind the oak tree the sun goes down
Painting with fire the spires and the windows
In my tree-shaded neighborhood.
Beyond calm streets pastures lie
Silvered with haze as fruits still fresh with bloom,
And the birds weave in flight across the zenith
On a sudden aerial loom.
Into the garden peace comes back with twilight,
Peace that since noon had left the remains of purple phlox,
Heavy-headed asters, the late roses
And the swaying spent hollyhocks.
For at high-noon I heard from this same garden
The far-off murmur as when gales are coming;
Up from the south and down from the north beating
Their stormy music like a drum;
And then hysterical sirens shattered
The brittle winter air,
To say that fierce storms are marching
Across towns and fields and open prairie.
But before the skies rage, they morph
Into violet, for the veils of dusk grow deep —
As earth takes her children’s many sorrows
And stills herself to sleep.
~Edited and adapted poem
by Sara Teasdale
…at twilight, as the day was fading, as the dark of night set in. ~Proverbs 7:9 ✝
**Images via Pinterest, collage by Natalie
