Something Wonderful: It’s a Spring day and this is all you’ll need of Internet for the duration.
![The Olympic Peninsula at the Vernal Equinox [2014]](https://americandigest.org/wp/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/a_olympicpen.jpg "The Olympic Peninsula at the Vernal Equinox [2014]")
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WHEN in the course of human Events, it becomes necessary….
Welcome to the New American Digest: 2003-2020
Home is where one starts from. As we grow older
The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated
Of dead and living. Not the intense moment
Isolated, with no before and after,
But a lifetime burning in every moment
And not the lifetime of one man only
But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.
There is a time for the evening under starlight,
A time for the evening under lamplight
(The evening with the photograph album).
Love is most nearly itself
When here and now cease to matter.
Old men ought to be explorers
Here or there does not matter
We must be still and still moving
Into another intensity
For a further union, a deeper communion
Through the dark cold and the empty desolation,
The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters
Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.
Gerard Van der Leun
When all Earth’s seas shall Levitate,
Dark shawled within the skies,
Upon our eyes will Starfish dance
Their waltz of Blind surprise.
The sun will Rise within wine Dark
As Argonauts imbibed,
Whose drunken arms embrace that sleep
Where Phaeton’s horses Stride.
Upon all of Earth’s wind-sanded shores,
As dolphins Learn to soar,
All we once were on the land
Shall be sealed behind the door
Of Ivory and Chastened Gold,
That the Mystery solved complete
Shall never til the seas’ Long fall
Wake mariners from their sleep.
— Van der Leun
I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this
air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
— Walt Whitman
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
— The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot
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Gerard,
We all hope you enjoyed your Spring day!
In the Poconos we had temps in the 20s, blustering gusts of up to 25 mph from the north, bringing the wind chill factor to what I refer to as harsh. We also enjoyed intermittent snow-squalls. It is not quite Spring yet.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I am okay with Winter. I actually like Winter….until around the end of February. At this point, my desire is to get my hands in the garden soil to plant the summer crops. Can’t even stick a spade in the soil yet. Froze solid. Come on, Spring!
Same here, but different. Snowed yesterday and today, temps in the teens and windchill below zero. I’m ready for some sprang! I played the vid and Shannon came runnin’, howling the whole time.
It’s a signal I’ve taught her and my previous mutts, from an early age. I say, “WHERE’S THAT GURL?”, then I let loose with a long, mournful howl. No matter where she is on the property she comes a flyin’. Without exception she is always rewarded with a cookie and my left pocket always has plenty.
Cute kid! Operatic beagle!
I’m still waiting for some woke millennial to realize that her kid’s musical toy keeps playing Old Black Joe.
Hey Rob, if he’s playing Old Black Joe over and over, would that make him a One Note Sambo? Sorry. I will just be leaving now.
Clearly very late to piling on here, but your “Spring Day” seemed too easily come by for a man who might still shed a tear for his graysunk Seattle brethren.
I do shed a tear for my comrades in Seattle and then say, hey, with ee cummings:
Get moving.
That’s certainly the dream, but we’ll be sopping up gravy from this particular train for a while yet.
Meanwhile, vacations.
Excellent and one does not leave a gravy train lightly. Still, remember the first thing to do when seeing incoming….. GET OFF THE X.