Saturday, April 28, 2012

sleep (eric whitacre)

The evening hangs beneath the moon, a silver thread on darkened dune.
With closing eyes and resting head; I know that sleep is coming soon.
Upon my pillow, safe in bed, a thousand pictures fill my head, I cannot sleep , my mids aflight; and yet my limbs seems made of lead.

If there are noises in the night, a frightening shadow, Flickerering light;
Then I surrender unto sleep, where cloads of dream give second sight.
What dreams may come, both dark and deep--
of flying wings and soaring leap?
-As I surrender unto sleep.-

-dark and deep-
...dark, unto sleep

Sunday, April 15, 2012


Fear of dust in my mouth is always with me,
and I am the faithful husband of the rain,
I love the water of wells and springs
and the taste of roofs in the water of cisterns.
I am a dry man whose thirst is praise
of clouds, and whose mind is something of a cup.
My sweetness is to wake in the night
after days of dry heat, hearing the rain."
-Wendell Berry, "Water"

Monday, April 9, 2012

the sweetest things

those things which are shortest lived are always the sweetest. Four restful, glorious days at home & I'm off again tonight... I suppose it could not be as sweet if it were any longer than this.

I want

"I am too alone in the world, and not alone enough
to make every minute holy.
I am too tiny in this world, and not tiny enough
just to lie before you like a thing,
shrewd and secretive.
I want my own will, and I want simply to be with my will,
as it goes toward action,
and in the silent, sometimes hardly moving times
when something is coming near,
I want to be with those who know secret things
or else alone.
I want to be a mirror for your whole body,
and I never want to be blind, or to be too old
to hold up your heavy and swaying picture.
I want to unfold.
I don't want to stay folded anywhere,
because where I am folded, there I ama lie.
And I want my grasp of things
true before you. I want to describe myself
like a painting that I looked at
closely for a long time,
like a saying that I finally understood,
like the pitcher I use every day,
like the face of my mother,
like a ship
that took me safely
through the wildest storm of all."

Sunday, April 8, 2012

the collect of this easter day

Lord of all life and power,
who through the mighty resurrection of your Son
overcame the old order of sin and death
to make all things new in him:
grant that we, being dead to sin
and alive to you in Jesus Christ,
may reign with him in glory;
to whom with you and the Holy Spirit
... be praise and honour, glory and might,
now and in all eternity.

Friday, April 6, 2012

biking & beautiful spring days

Coming home

finally home after a long time away... so much has changed, but I'm so grateful for a chance to rest at last.

When we're driving, in the dark,
on the long road
to Provincetown, which lies empty
for miles, when we're weary,
when the buildings
and the scrub pines lose
their familiar look,
I imagine us rising
from the speeding car,
I imagine us seeing
everything from another place — the top
of one of the pale dunes
or the deep and nameless
fields of the sea—
and what we see is the world
that cannot cherish us
but which we cherish,
and what we see is our life
moving like that,
along the dark edges
of everything —the headlights
like lanterns
sweeping the blackness —
believing in a thousand
fragile and unprovable things,
looking out for sorrow,
slowing down for happiness,
making all the right turns
right down to the thumping
barriers to the sea,
the swirling waves,
the narrow streets,
the houses,
the past, the future,
the doorway that belongs
to you and me.
-Mary Oliver