Discussion about this post

User's avatar
VirginiaM's avatar

In a lovely bit of synchronicity, I just came across this poem copied out in one of my notebooks yesterday:

Winter

The earth now lies through nights drenched

in the still dark benediction of the rain

and dusky houses and branches stand out bleak

each day in mist, in white, and in the rustling wet.

All, all is rich and restful, with heavy

and secret and rich growth finding its way

through warm soil to every leaf and shoot

and binding everything – near, far – mysteriously

with moisture, fruitfulness, and great desire

- till one clear afternoon suddenly we see

the glistening grass, the tenderly rising grain

and know that life is served by rest.

How could I ever have thought of summer

as richer than this season’s mystery?

- N.P. Van Wyk Louw

Expand full comment
Wendy's avatar

I love this story, and I love this site. It is truly a blessing. You are a beautiful soul with the light that shines brightly. Thank you.

Expand full comment
11 more comments...

No posts