“A Light Exists in Spring,” by Emily Dickinson

I awoke this morning to cool mists and shocks of deep green ivy climbing the massive gray hulks of my neighborhood’s oaks.  Given what is going on in the world, I wondered what fate might bring to the green, breezy valley of my adopted home.  I thought about trying to write something, but I was too tired.

Fortunately, my friend Jen shared this piece on Facebook.  It’s perfect.


“A Light Exists in Spring,” by 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 hills
That science cannot overtake,
But human nature feels.

It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.

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.



Mary Vaux Walcott, 1874

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