Sunday, 12 July 2015
That's Not Snow That's Frost
I walk over the veins of a lawn and sink into the green that flies
into every night when darkness turns to frost.
Kay McKenzie Cooke
The poet Emily Dickinson described frost as the 'blonde Assassin'.
These photos were taken last year when I spent a few days at my brother and sister in law's cottage; Tunnel Cottage, near Lawrence.
I think I'd like spend another week dedicated to writing. And Tunnel Cottage is ideal for that. Even if a little frosty first thing on a winter's morning.
Here is the Dickinson poem in full.
Apparently with no surprise
To any happy flower
The frost beheads it at its play.
In accidental power
The blonde Assassin passes on
The sun proceeds unmoved,
To measure off another day,
For an approving God.
Emily Dickinson (December 10 1830 - May 15 1886)
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