missing my north a lot today. maybe i will travel there again sometime soon. what stays with me are not the blizzards, nor the cold, nor the darkness.

this is an excerpt from gerald manley hopkins’s nightingale (1986) that to me, at this present instant, describes well my current feeling of memories unsubtly emerging inside the museum of unconditional surrender.

For he began at once and shook

My head to hear. He might have strung

A row of ripples in the brook,

So forcibly he sung,

The mist upon the leaves have strewed,

And danced the balls of dew that stood

In acres all above the wood.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s