Thursday Frost

Tanya is a very dear young friend who is teaching English at a school in Russia. We miss her very much. As a going away present we gave her post cards with pictures of local scenes and a bottle of maple syrup so she wouldn't get too homesick for Canada. Tanya, in return, gave us a book of poems by various poets entitled "The Four Seasons".
I found a poem about October in it that I wanted to share.
Thank you Tanya for this lovely book.
Please know that we think of you often and you are mentioned
in our prayers nightly.
UNHARVESTED by Robert Frost
A scent of ripeness from over a wall.
I come to leave the routine road
And look for what had made me stall.
There sure enough was an apple tree
That had eased itself of its summer load,
And of all but its trivial foliage free,
Now breathed as light as a lady's fan.
For there there had been an apple fall
As complete as the apple had given man.
The ground was one circle of solid red.
May something go always unharvested!
May much stay out of our stated plan,
Apples or something forgotten and left,
So smelling their sweetness would be no theft.

There's no fool like and old fool!

You would think that at my age I would know better than to walk around in the dark. Duh....turn on a light......that's why we have them. But no! I have to be a dork, walk downstairs in the dark while half asleep, miss the last step and half stumble, half walk and smack, face first into the bathroom door. I was lucky that I didn't fall and break a body part. Now, because it was dark, due to the lights not being turned on (I didn't want to wake hubby up) and because he was fast asleep upstairs in his bed, hubby John didn't get to see me whack myself. I know he would have expressed compassion and concern, and then given me proper you-know-what.....between the fits of laughter! Will I do it again? Probably! You know what they say. There's no fool like an old fool!

The Door In The Dark
In going from room to room in the dark,
I reached out blindly to save my face,
But neglected, however lightly, to lace
My fingers and close my arms in an arc.
A slim door got in past my guard,
And hit me a blow in the head so hard
I had my native simile jarred.
So people and things don't pair any more
With what they used to pair with before.
Robert Frost

It makes for a beautiful picture.

There is a house that I drive by each evening on my way home from work that has a huge, pink blossomed, Saucer Magnolia tree in the front yard. The tree stands stately and serene. It encompasses the whole front of the humble abode, a lone sentinel guarding the house. When passing by it's like looking through lace curtains. Every day, even though I have seen this tree the evening before, its' beauty takes me by surprise again and again. What a soothing and restful end to my work day. With each day that passes, the tree's beauty is slowly fading as the blossoms wither away, so today I stopped to snap a picture of it's still magnificent view. What a shock! My serene oasis had been transformed into a construction site with trucks and scaffolding in front of the tree and house. Insert sadness and a sigh here. I wanted to share with you so I searched the Internet for a photo that might show what I've been enjoying. Success! The tree shown above matches. It makes for a beautiful picture don't you agree?

A PRAYER IN SPRING Robert Frost
Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.
Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.
And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.
For this is love and nothing else is love,
To which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends he will,
But which it only needs that we fulfill.

It will be over soon enough

It seems to me that people are in too much of a rush to have summer arrive. We are, after all, still welcoming spring and trying hard to forget the not-so-distant past, winter. We are just getting used to the longer days and having it still light outside at eight o'clock in the evening.

We are still taking delight in the fact that we no longer need to walk out our front doors with layer upon layer of clothing and heavy boots on, to try to keep warm enough to scrape the cars clear of ice and snow. Some of us will even pause to watch and listen to the robins singing while they run across the front yard in their long black stockings. It is not yet the May two-four weekend and people are planting geraniums in their deck pots and some have even started to plant garden goodies. At almost every convenience store you can see pots after pot of those bright geranium flowers in every hue of red, pink and purple. All the garden centres are clamouring for your attention and are offering acres of multicoloured pansy's along with bright yellow marigolds, flowering ficus trees and cute little garden gnomes.

Hmmm....I think it is too soon for planting earthly delights. For many years, we used to live beside a very old German couple who had been working the earth from the time that they were each old enough to pick weeds as children. Otto and Mrs. Schneiderite would always tell us not to plant before the long weekend in May because the weather could still turn cold. Hubby John and I still live by those words after all these many years. We both feel that if you plant too soon, before all chance of a late frost has past, you run the risk of having to possibly replant. Yes, I know that daffodils and tulips are bursting out all over the place. The lilacs look like they are going to have a good season. It's not too warm for them and they've had a good root soaking from all the snow we had over the winter. People are outside, raking their just defrosted lawns, pulling out last years growth to make room for this years green carpet. But technically we are still in spring mode and truth be told, it's not so late in the season that we still couldn't get a covering of snow. It sure seemed cold enough for it this past week. So even though the birds are singing and making new nests for their soon-to-be birdlings, remember not to rush your summer as it will be over soon enough.

To the Thawing Wind by Robert Frost
Come with rain, O loud Southwester!

Bring the singer, bring the nester;

Give the buried flower a dream;

Make the settled snow-bank steam;

Find the brown beneath the white;

But what e'er you do to-night,

Bathe my window, make it flow,

Melt it as the ice will go;

Melt the glass and leave the sticks

Like a hermit's crucifix;

Burst into my narrow stall;

Swing the picture on the wall;

Run the rattling pages o'er;

Scatter poems on the floor;

Turn the poet out of door.

Thursday Thoughts

This past Sunday, Jaime and I, went for a walk. We ended it by wandering down a path that goes through the woods by her home. It had all the markings of spring: trees budding, trillium's peeking through the ground coverage, some hugging themselves close while waiting for warmer weather, while others were being brave and embracing the sunbeams that were able to reach the woodland floor. Purple violets, white sorrel and yellow trout lilies standing up and showing off their new spring jackets. Pools of dark, cold water from the winter thaw, reflecting the tall trees that were lifting budded and bare branches up towards the rays of watered sunshine. Birds were calling out to one another and a butterfly or two bravely wandered aimlessly in and out of the shadows cast from the odd passing cloud and the silent grey tree trunks.

One of my favourite poets, Robert Frost, was born on a Thursday. (03-26-1874)
He wrote about the exact same subject.

SPRING POOLS by Robert Frost

These pools that, though in forests, still reflect the total sky almost without defect,

And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver,

Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone,

And yet not out by any brook or river,

But up by roots to bring dark foliage on.

The trees that have it in their pent-up buds

To darken nature and be summer woods

Let them think twice before they use their powers

To blot out and drink up and sweep away

These flowery waters and these watery flowers

From snow that melted only yesterday.

And those, my friends, are my Thursday thoughts.