Saturday ~ November 19, 2022

This ambitious foul infirmity,

In having much, torments us with defect

Of that we have; so then we do neglect

The thing we have.

William Shakespeare, 1564 - 1616

Friday ~ November 18, 2022

Here is a mystery: If sweeping through the door of my heart there moves continually a genuine love for you, it bypasses all your hate and all your indifference and gets through to you at your center. You are powerless to do anything about it. You may keep alive devious ways the fires of your bitter heart, but they cannot get through to me. Underneath the surface of all the tension, something else is at work. It is utterly impossible for you to keep another from loving you.

Howard Thurman, 1899 - 1981

Thursday ~ November 17, 2022

 Not in the solitude

 Alone may we commune with Heaven,

 or see Only savage wood And sunny vale, the present Deity;

 Or only hear its voice

 Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice.

Even here do I behold Thy steps, Almighty! - here, amidst the crowd,

 Through the great city rolled, With everlasting murmur deep and loud -

Choking the ways that wind

'Mongst the proud piles, the work of humankind.

William Cullen Bryant, 1794 - 1878

Wednesday ~ November 16, 2022

Thank you, faithful things!

Thank you, world!

To know that the city is still there,

that the woods are still there,

and the houses, and the hum of traffic and the slow cows grazing in the field:

that the earth continues to turn and time hasn't stopped,

that we come back whole to suck the sweet marrow of day,

thank you, bright morning,

thank you, thank you!

Mark Strand, 1934 - 2014

Tuesday ~ November 15, 2022

PPI report for October:

 PPI up .2 vs up .4

Tuesday ~ November 15, 2022

 Stars littering the ground,

 leaves tattering the sky

Somewhere someone dies

Somewhere someone's born

Somewhere a chalice flares,

stirring some clenched hand to open,

 love to overflow

Somewhere opposites conjoin:

seen folding into unseen, unseen into seen

Somewhere words are soaring

up, then down, then up again

along the angels' ladder linking the stars speckling the sky,

the leaves playing on the ground.

Phoebe Hoss, 1926 - 2017

Sunday ~ November 13, 2022

 It isn't the thing you do, dear,

It's the thing you leave undone

That gives you a bit of a heartache

Ast setting of the sun.

The tender word forgotten,

The letter you did not write,

The flowers you did not send, dear,

Are your haunting ghosts at night.

Margaret E. Sangster, 1838 - 1912