Always be a poet, even in prose.
Nature’s verses can now be heard, whispered in the waters of a rushing brook or sung by a summer breeze across the expanse of a rolling river.
–Henry David Thoreau
On this February day, my thoughts drift to summer memories.
William Wordsworth, Lines Composed a few Miles above Tintern Abbey
William B. Yeats, Lake Isle of Innisfree
Eowyn Ivey, The Snow Child
This weekend’s foot of snow has given the Michigan landscape a white frosting, but the ephemeral nature of our weather ensures that its presence will be fleeting. Before it disappears, come walk with me across an icy stream and along a woodland trail.