The Lemons in Italy are something to behold, and my inspiration for this post:
From those flowers loosened by the moon’s light,
from that smell of exasperated love, sunk in fragrance, yellow
emerged from the lemon tree,
from it’s planetarium,
lemons came down to earth.
The coasts, the markets
filled up with light, with barbaric gold,
and we opened two halves of a miracle,
congealed acid that ran from the hemispheres of a star,
and natures most intense liqueur,
unchanging alive, irreducible,
was born from the coolness
of the lemon.
from it’s fragrant house,
from it’s acid and secret symmetry.
In the lemon knives cut a small
the hidden apse opened acid windows
to the light
and drops poured out
the topazes, the altars,
the cool architecture.
when your hand grasps the hemisphere of the cut
lemon above your plate
you spill a universe of gold
a goblet yellow
one of the aromatic nipples
of the earths breast,
the ray of light that became fruit,
a planet’s minuscule fire.
This past week-end we headed out to the Island for one last stay at Sohrab’s parents place before leaving for the summer.
We managed to get quite a bit of sun and spent some time at the beach down the Deer Trail by their house.
Zahra and I are experimenting with Bull kelp, since a friend of mine gifted me with a piece she was able to make a small rattle out of, so we now have several big pieces drying on the deck here, and I am hoping that they will dry nicely while we are away.
with its depths of light,
like an angel, or a Buddha with wings,
it was beautiful, and accurate,
striking the snow and whatever was there
with a force that left the imprint
of the tips of its wings — five feet apart —
and the grabbing thrust of its feet,
and the indentation of what had been running
through the white valleys of the snow —
and then it rose, gracefully,
and flew back to the frozen marshes
to lurk there, like a little lighthouse,
in the blue shadows —
so I thought:
maybe death isn’t darkness, after all,
but so much light wrapping itself around us —
that we are instantly weary of looking, and looking,
and shut our eyes, not without amazement,
and let ourselves be carried,
as through the translucence of mica,
to the river that is without the least dapple or shadow,
that is nothing but light — scalding, aortal light —
in which we are washed and washed
out of our bones.
Both Images are linked to the source, for some reason WordPress would not allow me to write under each one to share more information–looks like it is still a little wonkey since the other day…
Last week we bought a new camera for our trip–a fancy one!
This image has not been altered….
I have GOT to stop saving images and not bookmarking where I got them from–like this one for instance which I LOVE but for the life of me I can’t seem to be able to find the source-boo! But I believe it may be from a book on beekeeping in the uk.
I promise to credit source as soon as I find it–in the meantime this image is my dedication to the divine for the week-*sigh*
* Ok I found the source! It is a photo taken by Grace Pundyk and featured in her book The Honey trail–a beautiful book I am loving right now!
I just adore bees!