I took this photo a few years ago at Stonehenge. The clouds have never looked real.


My mother has been gone 10 years today.  I have a manila folder in our filing cabinet labeled “Mom’s Death.”  I found it this afternoon, by accident (right), when I was looking for some tax records.  First thought:  What kind of person labels a file “Mom’s Death”?  Second thought:  My mother’s daughter, of course.  She was so organized.  I am nothing if not ridiculously organized.  In the back of the folder, I found this poem.  I don’t remember ever seeing it before, though of course I must have.  Right?

Speak not, lie hidden, and conceal
the way you dream, the things you feel.
Deep in your spirit let them rise
akin to stars in crystal skies
that set before the night is blurred:
delight in them and speak no word.
How can a heart expression find?
How should another know your mind?
Will he discern what quickens you?
A thought once uttered is untrue.
Dimmed is the fountainhead when stirred:
drink at the source and speak no word.
Live in your inner self alone
within your soul a world has grown,
the magic of veiled thoughts that might
be blinded by the outer light,
drowned in the noise of day, unheard…
take in their song and speak no word.

–  Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev

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