life

it switches back and forth
between being something like
riding a horse
bareback
to the top of a hill
on a dark stormy night

and something like
lying in a valley
filled with spring flowers
under a deep blue sky
on a fresh day

- as

a gem on a crown

a reminder from the north -an emily dickinson poem

AS if some little arctic flower,
Upon the polar hem,
Went wandering down the latitudes,
Until it puzzled came
To continents of summer,
To firmaments of sun,
To strange, bright crowds of flowers,
And birds of foreign tongue!
I say, as if this little flower
To Eden wandered in--
What then? Why, nothing, only
Your inference therefrom!

rain

wisdom

cocoon of the weak
till they turn lunatic