Rabbit and the Snowdrop Lady

Rabbit and the Snowdrop Lady

via Rabbit and the Snowdrop Lady

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Future Spring – Eva Weggelaar

Future Spring – Eva Weggelaar

I’d give you love,
someone to trust.
I’d wash away all of the dust
to make your weary eyes see spring again.
Show you how it once began,
and that some things started never fade:
the sun shining even when it’s dark, the tree that will always offer you her shade.
So please, stop running quite so fast;
I could be the future that would give you back your past.
©Eva Weggelaar

Ebb’s potential – Eva Weggelaar

Ebb’s potential – Eva Weggelaar

Through the earth and rhododendron scented rains,
with the dog panting at my feet,
I roam all your winding lanes,
your twisting byroads, in search of a sigh that I can read.

I have such great potential for happiness
and, though it was always my dismissal,
I long to be the one to make you smile as I caress
each Braille shaped crevice of your strong stone wall.

I crush the petals for their wet soil scent,
ask the dog to run
so the wind can dry my eyes and mend
the many things I left undone.

There’s so much that I can’t say
and daren’t even write,
I long to spell it out for you anyway
I dream about it every night.

The dark trees make way for me
as I run with my faithful shadow
towards the crashing sound of the sea
that echoes your mind’s ebb and flow.

I’ll be the moon, the hare
whose eye lights up the tide –
you may not know, you may not care
but I’m so very much alone when out of sight.
-©Eva Weggelaar-

Listen to the audio here on youtube

Spring’s Bedfellow

Spring’s Bedfellow

Spring went about the woods to-day,
The soft-foot winter-thief,
And found where idle sorrow lay
’Twixt flower and faded leaf.
She looked on him, and found him fair
For all she had been told;
She knelt adown beside him there,
And sang of days of old.

His open eyes beheld her nought,
Yet ’gan his lips to move;
But life and deeds were in her thought,
And he would sing of love.

So sang they till their eyes did meet,
And faded fear and shame;
More bold he grew, and she more sweet,
Until they sang the same.

Until, say they who know the thing,
Their very lips did kiss,
And Sorrow laid abed with Spring
Begat an earthly bliss.
-William Morris-

Photograph: Eva Weggelaar

Calling fairies in Sussex

Calling fairies in Sussex

“Well, Mrs. Jasper, she said there was only one way to bring ’em. You must do it on a moonlight night just when the pollen was ripe on the catkins. I was always teasing and praying her to show me and at last one night she took me with her into the woods. I never shall forget it. She made me sit on the stump of an old tree in a little clearing where the moonlight came through, and she stood a few steps away with two small branches in her hands. I saw the gold dust flying from the catkins as she waved them gently, and sang a little song over and over in a funny low drawlin’ husky voice – just as though she was coaxin’ ’em :

Come in the stillness,
Come in the night,
Come soon,
And bring delight.
Beckoning, beckoning,
Left hand and right,
Come now,
Ah, come to-night!

It almost drew me off my stump to hear her, and the dog came creeping to her feet. No, I didn’t see anything – nothing but the gold dust fallin’ from the catkins, and her fluttering hands. But she said she’d seen ’em, often, but they only came when she was alone, they didn’t care about company. They’d come slidin’ down a branch to her and laugh and disappear again. The dog, he couldn’t abear them. He’d bristle up and growl and slink into the bushes. He knew they weren’t canny.”
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Illustration: Frank Cadogan Cowper

Before and After Summer

Before and After Summer

I
Looking forward to the spring
One puts up with anything.
On this February day,
Though the winds leap down the street,
Wintry scourgings seem but play,
And these later shafts of sleet
– Sharper pointed than the first –
And these later snows – the worst –
Are as a half-transparent blind
Riddled by rays from sun behind.

II
Shadows of the October pine
Reach into this room of mine:
On the pine there stands a bird;
He is shadowed with the tree.
Mutely perched he bills no word;
Blank as I am even is he.
For those happy suns are past,
Fore-discerned in winter last.
When went by their pleasure, then?
I, alas, perceived not when.
-Thomas Hardy-

Photograph: Masahisa Fukase