Afternoon on a Hill

Landscape; from Bartholomaeus Anglicus,

All the Proprytees of Thynges, Westminster 1495.

I suppose some modern folk may look at the name Edna St. Vincent Millay, or the rhymes with which this poem is crafted, and roll their eyes. That's too bad, in my opinion. Over the years I have returned to "Afternoon on a Hill" many times because it takes me out of my busy urban life and up to a quiet hillside.

There I take a calm, then a calmer breath, find a moment to notice my own and the world's resilience and renewal, and return in time down that hill refreshed and happy. I hope that you may find your own hill and your own quiet moment with this poem.

Afternoon on a Hill

Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1892 - 1950

I will be the gladdest thing

   Under the sun!

I will touch a hundred flowers

   And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds

   With quiet eyes,

Watch the wind bow down the grass,

   And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show

   Up from the town,

I will mark which must be mine,

   And then start down!

Sleeping in the Forest by Mary Oliver

Three trees; detail of a page from Sarum Horae, Paris (Pigouchet for Jean Richard) 1494.

by Mary Oliver 

I thought the earth remembered me,

she took me back so tenderly,

arranging her dark skirts, her pockets

full of lichens and seeds.

I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,

nothing between me and the white fire of the stars

but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths

among the branches of the perfect trees.

All night I heard the small kingdoms

breathing around me, the insects,

and the birds who do their work in the darkness.

All night I rose and fell, as if in water,

grappling with a luminous doom. By morning

I had vanished at least a dozen times

into something better.

from Sleeping In The Forest

© Mary Oliver

THE SCRIBE IN THE WOODS

A hedge of trees surrounds me, a blackbird’s lay sings to me, praise I shall not conceal,

Above my lined book the trilling of the birds sings to me.

A clear-voiced cuckoo sings to me in a gray cloak from the tops of bushes,

May the Lord save me from Judgement; well do I write under the greenwood.

The purpose of this blog is to offer a quiet place for contemplation of writing and related things. I welcome your suggestions.

In an effort to step away from the pressure of the market place I am offering my writing for free in its electronic versions, and will add links as they come available. You can find these links in the page called The Scribe's Stories and Poems.

I'm still exploring my ideas for this blog, and it is a labour of love that will evolve slowly. No time constraints here. Just an opportunity to take a sweet breath and listen to the birds.

One thing I have decided...These posts will all be poems. Poems and images to calm and inspire the creative heart. For everything else, look at the pages.

Poem from the Irish

pg 259

The Classics of Western Spirituality:

Celtic Spirituality

Woodcut from
The Birds, Bartholomaeus Anglicus
circa 1485