the nature of things


she is not my mother
nor my lover
nor my sister
nor my daughter
nor my friend
nor my angel
nor my flower
nor my power

she is each part of every thing
autumn, winter, summer, spring
a high pitched fife
sometimes a paring knife
taking away my life

she is all and nothing
a push on a swing
a name on a ring

(via mermaidsbite)

“ I still remember the feeling I felt when I first started talking to you.
“ I am nature, watch me grow.
“ Let mystery have its place in you; do not be always turning up your whole soil with the plowshare of self–examination, but leave a little fallow corner in your heart ready for any seed the winds may bring, and reserve a nook of shadow for the passing bird; keep a place in your heart for the unexpected guests, an altar for the unknown God. Then if a bird sings among your branches, do not be too eager to tame it. If you are conscious of something new – thought or feeling, wakening in the depths of your being – do not be in a hurry to let in light upon it, to look at it; let the springing germ have the protection of being forgotten, hedge it round with quiet, and do not break in upon its darkness; let it take shape and grow, and not a word of your happiness to any one! Sacred work of nature as it is, all conception should be enwrapped by the triple veil of modesty, silence and night.