29 December 2010

words



I, too, live where there are no roads
the pinhole in the top of a pumpkin
the mirror in a puddled footprint

Now it is time to say all those things you've thought in silence
The seeds of my sleep
worthy to pluck the petals of my smile

26 December 2010

after, early

snow fell Christmas night.
this morning the pasture cuts glowed
white like soft avenues of arctic pelts
rabbit, bear, clouds
scuttling past in huddled clumps
southeast towards the coast
out to the broad blue
catching light and the clarity
of early morning after Christmas
snow

02 December 2010

Christmas Creek time lapse


Christmas Creek from Laura Candler on Vimeo.

Would it be better to sit in silence?
To think everything, to feel everything, to say nothing?
This is the way of the orange gourd.
This is the habit of the rock in the river, over which
the water pours all night and all day.
But the nature of man is not the nature of silence.
Words are the thunders of the mind.
Words are the refinement of the flesh.
Words are the responses to the thousand curvaceous moments—
we just manage it—
sweet and electric, words flow from the brain
and out the gate of the mouth.
We make books of them, out of hesitations and grammar.
We are slow, and choosy.
This is the world.

Mary Oliver
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