
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveler to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveler to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The full moon and lunar eclipse again wreaked havoc with my sleep – I woke up several times seemingly for no reason, but I looked out the window and said “goodnight, moon“, as if I were in Margaret Wise Brown’s classic book where the bunny says goodnight to various objects and creatures before drifting off to sleep.
I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,
nothing between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
among the branches of the perfect trees.
All night I heard the small kingdoms
breathing around me, the insects,
and the birds who do their work in the darkness.
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better. –Mary Oliver

Cinderella by Frances Brundage

And, finally I see
There right in front of me
Waiting peacefully
Was a bright new day
A little poem written by Athey Thompson
Art curated from Pinterest
Stars are dropping thick as stones into the twiggy
Picket of trees whose silhouette is darker
Than the dark of the sky because it is quite starless.
The woods are a well. The stars drop silently.
Stars Over the Dordogne – Sylvia Plath

There’s a tree that I’ve been watching
And I see it in my dreams
For it calls to me and whispers
As it dances in the breeze
It whispers of a struggle
From the roots up through the trunk
And from there it tells of healing
Grown of nurture, care and love
Becky Hemsley 2021

“A thing of beauty is a joy forever” — John Keats.
I used to love to walk through the downtown of my little city, until elected officials decided to call it a “village” but instead ruin it by filling it with boxes of ugly square buildings and a lot more places for people to get nasty drunk.
There’s no longer any charm; the atmosphere is entirely UNvillage-like, actually about as far away from being a “village” as you could possibly get.
I usually stay away but yesterday I found myself in the area and stopped at a little consignment shop, not the same one where I once scored AUTHENTIC Louis Vuitton and Dior scarves in the same day, but one with housewares and touristy stuff.
That’s where i fell in love with this beautiful work of art in the form of a pitcher and HAD to bring it home with me.

She needed a special photo shoot to properly reveal the iridescent green and gold, so I brought her out to the garden to soak up a few rays.


Have you ever seen anything more charming and ENCHANTED? I think not.
There’s no maker mark so it’s not valuable to anyone but me, but I love pretty things and this pitcher will definitely be on display in all of her glory. I’m burying the lede here, but in case you’re wondering, it cost $8.00.That’s it. EIGHT DOLLARS.
A thing of beauty is absolutely a joy forever.
“It doesn’t matter how old you are, there is a little child within who needs love and acceptance.”- Louise Hay
Do you still wish upon a star? I do, because my own inner child is blissfully naive and unsophisticated.
Star light, star bright,
First star I see tonight,
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have this wish I wish tonight.⭐

I wrote a letter
To my inner child
And, I told her
How loved she was by me
And, if no one else
Ever told her so
She knew
How loved she was, by me
⭐
And when
We grow up
We must never forget
That hidden, down deep
Within us
Is our forever inner child
Resting, silently within us
Forever waiting
Forever hoping
That one day
We shall
Remember it
⭐
And, if a star shall fall
Down upon the ground
Why, I shall pick her up
For she longed to be found
I shall hold her forever
Forever in my heart
Knowing that we shall never
Ever again, be apart
By Athey Thompson from A little Pocket Book of Poems