'Twas one of those dark cloudy days
That sometimes come in summer's blaze
When heaven drops not when earth is still
And deeper green is on the hill'
~Emily Bronte
Her poetry is wild and wooly and stares at one off the page. She is a kindred spirit, living on open moors buffeted by wind and extreme tempertures (I'm told). What else would one be but in despair if faced with such climate in such terrain? The very atomosphere either lifts one to itself or presses the body into the ground--as if we weren't bitterly burdened enough creatures already!
"...Yes, as my swift days near heir goal,
'Tis all that I implore;
In life and death, a chainless soul,
With courage to endure."
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3 comments:
Kelly, have you ever visited the Republic of Pemberley?
I think you'll revel in it.
This page is lovely. Everything that your existential space should be!
And the Bronte poem 'spoke' to me.
(Its raining and about 30 degrees. Think Annapolis)
Yes, that's the only site I've been considering worthy of linking to this one so far, but didn't have the address--thanks for giving it!
Ouch, 30 deg??? In august, that's reprehensible! I'm ashamed of my birth month allowing such disagreeable weather to cloud your sky!
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