#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Pussy Willow in April
All week I've been bursting like the furry catkins of the pussy willows in their tiny tumult of awakening - how their presence near the river's bank offers anyone who's passing by a place to stay, a state, of grace.
“. . . Each minute bursts in the burning room,
The great globe reels in the solar fire,
Spinning the trivial and unique away.
(How all things flash! How all things flare!)
What am I now that I was then?
May memory restore again and again
The smallest color of the smallest day:
Time is the school in which we learn,
Time is the fire in which we burn. . .”
