Inspired by C.S. Lewis' The Four Loves: My moon-sick eyes I turn from Sun above; Too brilliant, let me see yet silhouettes And trace them on my heart lest I forget These shades that show the shape of Light, my love. Permit that I might feel those phantom limbs Of One I neither see nor now…
A year ago today I picked up a copy of Rupi Kaur's Milk and Honey in a Waterstones in Cambridge. I read it cover-to-cover without sitting and — admittedly — without purchasing it. I was intrigued, but, when I closed it and placed it back on its display, I realized that the fascination I'd felt with…
Awhirl before my eyes did swirl the sparks As one by one the candles turned to smoke And sitting there in silent, stillest dark, A flicker burned within and I awoke. . I felt a pang for that dear body broke That bled betwixt time and eternity. It seemed I saw His image in the…
"We think to be the burning bright of sun Which lends to us the glow we know as pow'r. And yet when seasons change and months are done, We wax and wane with ev'ry passing hour. Beneath the pale and ever-shifting face, The darkened side is ever on the lurk. Pretending this is truly not…
Too often, I find myself staring in admiration at my bookshelves. The ornate covers of collectables, the crackled pages of old favorites, the bright illustrations of new editions... *sigh of delight* To my abashment (isn't that a lovely word for a not-so-lovely feeling?), I own and admire many books I have yet to actually…
