And You Said, Love is a Lesson

I suppose what I’ve learned is that I want to be overpowered by a towering love,
and in the middle of the terror claiming my soul,
rise up in a fury and fling aside the walls of the world
until everything, everything,
collapses.

What will they do, when I spring upwards?
With my love craning his neck at my side, both of us petrified,
and suddenly mad with that miracle?

What will they do, when I speak with all the force of my voice,
shaking the silence till it trembles?

What will they do, when love is no longer fear,
and the terror of my heart is free?

The Old City, parts One and Two

I’ve been a part of a story-telling game on tumblr, and every Thursday is my turn to read aloud either something I’ve written, or a favorite fable of mine. For the past two weeks, I’ve been narrating a story I wrote called The Old City, about a young woman named Amelia who catches a train in a city during wartime.

If you like a little bit of scifi, try giving this a listen! (If you do, you deserve a slice of cake.)

Part One (16 min):

Part Two (14 min):

Hello, Good December

December! A wonderful, beautiful month–the Christmas season is one of my favorite times of year. Filled with so many family traditions, secretive gift-planning, noisy joy and plenty of laughter, this month is both happy and exhaustive.

And some of the best moments of December are those that come with snow falling. I couldn’t tell you how much I love watching it fall, how it can change my dreary day in an instant. I never seem to think of snow as something harsh and freezing, but always as forgiving and graceful. A welcome, forgetful sleep for a weary world.

“Dust of Snow”

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

ROBERT FROST

Cold November

It’s finally becoming cold enough to freeze the ground, and leave a good frost. I think tonight I’ll continue with this fall theme, set up so kindly by Mr. Yeats last evening.

I love the last lines of this poem, simply because it’s what I do when autumn drifts in, after a few months of indecision. Every evening I seem to be staying up late, reading, writing long letters, and wishing to be out wandering. (Though I won’t go out wandering the roads past sunset, because of the coyotes.)

“Autumn Day”

Lord: it is time. The summer was so immense.
Lay your shadow on the sundials,
and let loose the wind in the fields.

Bid the last fruits to be full,
give them another two more southerly days,
press them to ripeness, and chase
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.

Whoever has no house now will not build one anymore.
Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long time,
will stay up, read, write long letters,
and wander the avenues, up and down,
restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.

RAINER MARIE RILKE

Autumnal Neglect.

I have left this little blog so unattended, I should be charged for neglect. However, whatever charges I may bring against myself still won’t give me anything to write about in this moment.

So for a start, I suppose it’s best to begin with the good words of others. Authors I have never read (and should have), and authors I have read every year, books that are old and new, and spring-board words that’ll bring me back.

“The Falling of the Leaves”

Autumn is over the long leaves that love us,
And over the mice in the barley sheaves;
Yellow the leaves of the rowan above us,
And yellow the wet wild-strawberry leaves.

The hour of the waning of love has beset us,
And weary and worn are our sad souls now;
Let us part, ere the season of passion forget us,
With a kiss and a tear on thy drooping brow.

W.B. YEATS