Wordsworth’s um… words are touching my heart this week, and so the ridiculousness of sitting in front of a screen and writing missives on Nature haunts my psyche. Out to make a garden in my new (relatively) home, watching the leaves burst into the tender spring green, listening to the birds… these will be my focus now.
The World Is Too Much With Us
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours…
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.
I will leave you with one from Karine Polwart, whose tender verses written for the the natural world are some of my favorites.
Rivers Run gives honor and love to the water element;
May the call of Mother Earth be answered so that we meet Her in heart and soul, as unfettered with our ideas and our machines as we can manage. Happy Mother’s Day to all!