Punxsutawney Phil says six more weeks of winter. General Beau Lee here in the south says: So take your pick, winter or spring, whichever you prefer (as mild as winter has been here this year either way works for me). And just for fun, in case you didn’t wake up to it this morning:
It all started with a rumor she said. A rumor passed on by her daughter. One of cool water at a picnic on a hot day. L.L. Barkat begins her latest book on writing, creativity, and raising creative daughters talking of rumors. Talking of frustration. Of ups and downs. Of not living, experiencing enough. [...]
Art lost its basic creative drive the moment it was separated from worship. It severed an umbilical cord and now lives its own sterile life, generating and degenerating itself. In former days the artist remained unknown and his work was to the glory of God. — Ingmar Bergman (via Dave Griffith @poorerthandead)
The fog is thick this morning. Both outside, creating a colorless, gray morning, and inside our home casting a misty veil among the rooms. One close to us has passed through the veil this past weekend. My father-in-law left this world after several years of battle. He fought the war with Alzheimer disease, with heart [...]
What would they say if they knew I sit for two months on six lines of poetry? Lorine Niedecker from her poem The Great Snowfall Before the Bomb