Celebrate The Last Of Summer

A few times a year, I share a poem. Here’s to celebrating the last of summer… September Midnight By Sara Teasdale Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer, Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing, Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects, Ceaseless, insistent. The grasshopper’s horn, and far-off,

A Christmas Poem

A few times a year I share a poem.  Happy Holidays-however you celebrate them! [little tree] By E. E. Cummings little tree little silent Christmas tree you are so little you are more like a flower who found you in the green forest and were you very sorry to come away? see          i

Savoring Summer’s Twilight

Someone observed to me that each month of summer had a different feel. If all of the months fit into one day, the day would go like this:   June would be the morning of summer. July would be the midday of summer. And August-August would be the twilight of summer.   This

Finding Beauty In Ignored, Discarded, And Broken Things

My mother-in-law Ellie used to make pictures and collages from both natural and man-made materials. She had graduated summa cum laude from Radcliffe College in the 1920s with a degree in art history and was later hired as the director for the small Fitchburg Massachusetts art museum. While she certainly knew and appreciated