I've long mulled the idea of starting a blog, and inspired by the blogs of friends (many among my readership), I've finally gotten all my ducks in a row, and mustered up the courage and material with which to begin. I'm interested by the possibilities for dialogue and sharing that a blog offers, but also strongly committed to the preservation and power of "old-fashioned" journaling by hand, and exchanging written correspondence across distances great and small. I'm also using it as a platform to explore and develop my own amateur talents in short, reflective writing, as well as in photography. Please do feel free to comment on any of the content you'll find here, and if you have non-electronic means of corresponding with me, I'd welcome dialogue and feedback through those channels as well!
As for the title, it's taken from the final line of a poem by Mary Oliver that I've returned to often for inspiration and motivation amid the vicissitudes of life. I've copied it in its entirety below. Happy reading and musing!
"A Dream of Trees"
There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees,
A quiet house, some green and modest acres
A little way from every troubling town,
A little way from factories, schools, laments.
I would have time, I thought, and time to spare,
With only streams and birds for company,
To build out of my life a few wild stanzas.
And then it came to me, that so was death,
A little way away from everywhere.
There is a thing in me still dreams of trees.
But let it go. Homesick for moderation,
Half the world's artists shrink or fall away.
If any find solution, let him tell it.
Meanwhile I bend my heart toward lamentation
Where, as the times implore our true involvement,
The blades of every crisis point the way.
I would it were not so, but so it is.
Who ever made music of a mild day?
–From "New and Selected Poems, Volume One" by Mary Oliver
Tower Grove Park, St. Louis MO
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