Some time ago I was browsing through the bookstore, and came across a book of Robert Frost poetry called Seasons. It is composed of 32 of his poems interspersed with pictures of breathtaking yet simple beauty... pictures of the four seasons. Of course I bought the book and it now has a permanent spot on my bookshelf. From time to time I take it to a comfy seat and slowly turn the pages, totally immersing myself in the imagery within.
It contains nearly all of my favorites: Mending Wall, Fireflies in the Garden, The Road Not Taken, all time fave Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, and new one: My November Guest. Why do these poems speak to countless readers? There are no truer words that I have found about the wonders of normal day to day life communing with nature. The words envelope me and its like I am on my way home.
I started this blog because recently I realized that I am and always will be a work in progress. Early in my life, writing was an every day occurrence, but that part of me has somehow become dormant. Once several years ago I was discussing starting a blog with my friend Allie, and we both laughed knowing how hard it would be for me to bare my soul for anyone and everyone to see. Break down my walls, as it were. Now, it appears that something there is that doesn't love a wall. I have too many obsessions to confine it to one subject, so there will likely be many varied posts, if I keep up with it [smirk]. I hope I do though. Here goes --!