The Music of What Happens

There are the mud-flowers of dialect
And the immortelles of perfect pitch
And that moment when the bird sings very close
To the music of what happens.

(from "Song" by Seamus Heaney)

For some reason, my reflection on gardens earlier this week made me think of Seamus Heaney, and I've been spending a little time enjoying his poetry this evening. (One of my favorite poems is "Digging". This is the only possible connection I can come up with, and it's tenable, at best - my subconscious is pretty tricky at times.)

Despite the fact that my mind spends about 70% of its higher brain function these days in Early Modern England, I am a huge, huge Heaney fan. I had the good fortune to hear him read at a small church in New Hampshire when I was a high school student, and I have been hooked on his work since that moment. If you like Heaney's poetry (or even just the stanza above) but have never heard him speak, you must go here. He is one of those poets whose work is at its best when recited by the author himself. The link will take you to a poetry website sponsored by the University of North Carolina Press and North Carolina Arts Council. The full poem "Song" is available there. Click on the button marked "listen" to hear him recite the poem in its entirety. Believe me, it is well worth it. Go now - I'll wait.

See?

I'm not sure exactly, yet, how this will translate into a new design, but I certainly feel inspired by this poem.

I took the photo above on the same evening as the ones for the previous post. Since it didn't fit the "green" theme as well, I didn't use it yesterday. However, I still quite like it, so I thought I'd show it to you, anyway.

Thanks for stopping by! Have a great night.