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Tag Archives: carl sandburg

A flinging reckless hum

Many birds and the beating of wings
Make a flinging reckless hum
In the early morning at the rocks
Above the blue pool
Where the gray shadows swim lazy.

In your blue eyes, O reckless child,
I saw today many little wild wishes,
Eager as the great morning.

                       –Carl Sandburg

 

Thinking today of childhood and imagination. 

I remember so well the feeling of childhood play:  making beds out of moss, carrying a wand made from a china berry twig, creating a complex world from my grandmother’s buttons.  We can’t go back to it.  The closest comes in watching our children capture it.  Sometimes I watch Norah with a jealousy for that time. 

I wish to slip into her skin and remember when pretend was real.

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Today’s Colors

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
 
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper
sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
 
The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes,
new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind,
and old things go, not one lasts.
 
–Autumn Movement by Carl Sandburg.