Poetry Friday -- New With Old

Glad sight wherever new with old
by William Wordsworth


Glad sight wherever new with old
Is joined through some dear homeborn tie;
The life of all that we behold
Depends upon that mystery.
Vain is the glory of the sky,
The beauty vain of field and grove
Unless, while with admiring eye
We gaze, we also learn to love.




Every year at the Ohio Casting for Recovery retreat we spend some time early on Sunday morning down by the pond singing together, reading a couple of poems together, and blessing each other with words and hugs.

I am never ready for the emotions that invariably rise up in my heart and streak down my face, almost from the first moment I stand in that circle of new and old friends.

The fleeting beauty of the pond, the autumn snap in the air, the brief time we have together that weekend, the knowledge that no matter how long we have on this beautiful earth we will not want to leave when it is our time, the remembrance of those who have already had to leave, the thoughts of those who have recently had their life shift in an instant with a diagnosis...all of this breaks my heart and then glues it back together again in a new and beautiful design.

I cry, I sob...and then I wipe my tears and laugh again. We go to breakfast, gear up, get a little crazy, and head back to the pond full of life and energy and hope.

The new and the old are joined together for me at that pond; the past and the future both live there simultaneously in those brief moments. The beauty of life is seen and felt and heard with a rare clarity...and then life goes on.



Happy Poetry Friday! Laura has the roundup at Writing the World for Kids.

Parallel Worlds

I was supposed to be at the health club swimming. I was supposed to be at school putting up bulletin boards and dissecting the Social Studies Standards. I was supposed to be folding laundry.

Instead, I was standing at the sink snipping basil leaves from basil stems. Endlessly. I should have taken pictures so you could see just how many leaves there were on my four basil BUSHES this year. Suffice it to say, I made six batches of pesto. Six food processors full.

Six containers of distilled summer, captured and preserved on this crisp hint-of-fall day.

As I snipped and washed and packed and ground and glopped and slopped, I had a lot of time to think. I thought about summer and photosynthesis. I thought about fall and endings. I thought about winter and snow.

Thoughts of snow turned to thoughts of Robert's Snow, and the enormous amazing outpouring of support for Grace Lin and her family and all those whose lives might be touched by the cancer research at the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute.

I feel like I live in parallel worlds. In the one that is most tangible, strangers rarely reach out to strangers. Yet in the world behind and beyond my computer screen, connections that start as invisible electronic impulses become a web of heart strings that give me hope for humanity.

Details from the posting at 7 Impossible Things Before Breakfast:

"This year, more than 200 well-known children’s book illustrators from around the world have been given a five-inch wooden snowflake to decorate at will. Like actual snowflakes, each design is unique. The 2007 online auctions for bidding on these hand-painted snowflakes will take place in three separate auctions, open to everyone, from November 19 to 23, November 26-30, and December 3-7. You can read here for more information.

What we in the kidlitosphere community want to do to help drive traffic to the site for this year’s auctions and help raise money for the cause is highlight at our blogs the illustrators who have created snowflakes for these upcoming ’07 auctions — as well as post the unique snowflakes they have made (one at a time at each blog, which the DFCI has graciously given us permission to do), ultimately driving as much traffic as we possibly can to the Robert’s Snow online auctions."