|Emily Dickinson 1830-1836|
I often think of Emily Dickinson, sometimes more than other times. Perhaps it was the way the waxing moon shone down on my town last night after dark. Or perhaps it was the way Jupiter looked in the eastern sky as I meandered down the quiet, snowy streets of winter last night.
I think winter nights give us pause to think...maybe it is because of the darkness or the quietness of streets and towns filled with snow. Maybe it has to do with the beating of our own hearts knowing that kitchens full of leftover soup or glasses of wine wait for us.
Yet, could it be in the possibilities that stretch out across the tundra into places in our imagination that we never thought possible?
Whatever it is, I am glad we have poets and star gazers and wanderers to help us put all of these thoughts into words. As for the words I am choosing on this day, it is Emily Dickinson and her poem. If you were Coming in the Fall. It is one of my favorite poems. I have a basket full of yarn in my parlor (living room), but maybe I could roll it up into the dresser and wait...and wait.
|My basket of yarn.|
|With half a smile and half a spurn,|
|As housewives do a fly.|
|If I could see you in a year,||5|
|I ’d wind the months in balls,|
|And put them each in separate drawers,|
|Until their time befalls.|
|If only centuries delayed,|
|I ’d count them on my hand,||10|
|Subtracting till my fingers dropped|
|Into Van Diemen’s land.|
|If certain, when this life was out,|
|That yours and mine should be,|
|I ’d toss it yonder like a rind,||15|
|And taste eternity.|
|But now, all ignorant of the length|
|Of time’s uncertain wing,|
|It goads me, like the goblin bee,|
|That will not state its sting.|