Poets often speak of eternity within us. I find this hard to grasp. Perhaps I’m too literal and that’s fatal when it comes to poetry. But early this morning I was walking my little dog and experienced a sudden and heightened awareness of the new day. I found myself pondering on this new day’s connection to that long chain of days that have eternally flowed like waves to the shoreline, and at that moment, felt a fleeting sense of the eternal.
I saw this wall at “The Friars” a Carmelite Priory. I loved the light and the scattered leaves, but the wall seemed a little intimidating. I was reminded of a section of Robert Frost’s poem, “Mending Wall.”
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Robert Frost
A short poem:
Trees
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast.
Joyce Kilmer
