A Book as a Mode of Traveling to Other Worlds

Summer reading

“In books I have traveled, not only to other worlds, but into my own.  I learned who I was and who I wanted to be, what I might aspire to, and what I might dare to dream about my world and myself.”
— Anna Quindlen

A Book
by Emily Dickinson

There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul.

I especially love this Dickinson poem for its reminder that public libraries make books and armchair traveling affordable and accessible to all.

 

 

 

Green Grass Growing

Sprinklers watering the grass

Watering the grass

“The grass has so little to do,
A sphere of simple green,
With only butterflies to brood,
And bees to entertain.”
— Emily Dickinson

“We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing
That skies are clear and grass is growing.”
— James Russell Lowell

“No one thinks of Winter when the grass is green.”
— Rudyard Kipling

I love the smell of newly mown grass.  We do not water our lawn, so it does get dry and weedy in late summer.  This year June rains have kept it well watered.  In spite of the rain, I notice that some of our neighbors do keep their sprinklers going.  I liked the line created by these sprinklers, all in a row along the sidewalk.

Experiment of Green

Tulip leaves edged by sunlight

A Little Madness in the Spring
by Emily Dickinson

A little Madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King,
But God be with the Clown —

Who ponders this tremendous scene —
This whole Experiment of green —
As if it were his own!

A Letter is a Joy of Earth

Handwritten letter from my sister

“A letter is a joy of Earth —
It is denied the Gods.”

     — Emily Dickinson

One of life’s simple pleasures is finding a letter in the mailbox.  In this age of e-mails and text-messaging, I feel fortunate to have one person with whom to exchange handwritten letters.  My oldest sister still prefers to communicate with me in this old-fashioned way.  We write each other about two or three letters a month.  I enjoy everything about the process: holding an actual pen or pencil, seeing small variations in my penmanship, buying pretty stamps at the post office, anticipating an arrival in our mailbox, and savoring a few moments of quiet rest while I read my sister’s letter.