the Work of Happiness by May Sarton

 

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I thought of happiness, how it is woven
Out of the silence in the empty house each day
And how it is not sudden and it is not given
But is creation itself like the growth of a tree.
No one has seen it happen, but inside the bark
Another circle is growing in the expanding ring.
No one has heard the root go deeper in the dark,
But the tree is lifted by this inward work
And its plumes shine, and its leaves are glittering.
So happiness is woven out of the peace of hours
And strikes its roots deep in the house alone:
The old chest in the corner, cool waxed floors,
White curtains softly and continually blown
As the free air moves quietly about the room;
A shelf of books, a table, and the white-washed wall—
These are the dear familiar gods of home,
And here the work of faith can best be done,
The growing tree is green and musical.
For what is happiness but growth in peace,
The timeless sense of time when furniture
Has stood a life’s span in a single place,
And as the air moves, so the old dreams stir
The shining leaves of present happiness?
No one has heard thought or listened to a mind,
But where people have lived in inwardness
The air is charged with blessing and does bless;
Windows look out on mountains and the walls are kind.

Farms, Barns and Trucks…New Hampshire

There are photographs…They are black and white.  They are what lead me to what is wrong…What is right!

Looking In with Outside Eyes

I look at the faces of those I have yet to meet…

and, with their sheltered glance back.

100_1215I wonder what it is they see.

Solitary in this chilled climate.

My greeting of gratitude have loss their appeal.

The slow melt of morning’s snow.

These ‘one size’ fits all deceits…are all mine.

Looking in with outside eyes.

I have no time for a complacent mind.

Beauty is Ugly. Ugly is Beauty

I do not travel with a camera of great expense.  I do not travel with gadgets to improve the photographic experience.  I travel for the experience.

Time is Aging

So many shapes, sizes.

Some oblique and detractors.

Some manic from nearing disaster.

Time is aging…rounding off jagged points of view.

Time has become minimal.

Urging my black and white mind with visions basic and new.