*a poem by Emily Dickinson https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emily_Dickinson
A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period –
When March is scarcely here
A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.
It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.
Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay —
A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.
*the poem references March as barely being here as spring sprung – where I live, spring may be marked as beginning in March, but it’s now, in April, that we actually begin to feel a little relief from winter…ironically, not today (I create these posts often a day or more ahead of posting), as it’s currently snowing in the Cats – gaaa!!!
