Top: Flickr Favorites, 1. white clover, 2. found, 3. seagull soup, 4. UntitledBottom: my image, from two springs ago
I like to bring things home with me when I go for walks, little bits I collect on the ground--pine branches, birch, small and perfectly formed pine cones, put them on ledges and gaze, remembering that walk, that moment of being calm and outside.
These days, I feel a bit tilted. This is usually what happens when one runs into this time of the semester--two months, full-steam, or nearly-full, edging out at the end of month two--and I hit some kind of blank, invisible wall, something that confuses all the balls I have in the air, and I feel a desperate need to right myself. Or hide. One of the two.
I've been reading a biography on Emily Dickinson and I love that she had two collections in her life: the first, of course, are her prolific poems, but the second is a pressed wildflower collection, complete with identification cards and labels.
What a wrong time of year for me to start to fantasize about pressing wildflowers.
But a lovely time for me to go to the library, perhaps on my day "off", this Wednesday, and pour over those guides, immerse myself in springtime, give myself some green and light when the days seem to be folding in on themselves and hibernation approaches.
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