About my childhood, that is. But certain things stay with me, lasting images, thoughts, words or moments that have yet to escape my mind. I can't figure out why some of my life events haunt me, while other moments may hurt me or bring joy, and still I have no memory of it. In any case, there is a poem that I read while in High School that I memorized after only reading it a few times. And to this day, I recite it in a reoccurring dream, on a stage in front of no one. Why? Your guess is as good as mine. Anyone out there with a Psychology degree?
A November Night by Sara Teasdale
There! See the line of lights,
A chain of stars down either side the street --
Why can't you lift the chain and give it to me,
A necklace for my throat? I'd twist it round
And you could play with it. You smile at me
As though I were a little dreamy child
Behind whose eyes the fairies live. . . .
And see,The people on the street look up at us
All envious. We are a king and queen,
Our royal carriage is a motor bus,
We watch our subjects with a haughty joy. . . .
How still you are! Have you been hard at work
And are you tired to-night? It is so long
Since I have seen you -- four whole days, I think.
My heart is crowded full of foolish thoughts
Like early flowers in an April meadow,
And I must give them to you, all of them,
Before they fade. The people I have met,
The play I saw, the trivial, shifting things
That loom too big or shrink too little, shadows
That hurry, gesturing along a wall,
Haunting or gay -- and yet they all grow real
And take their proper size here in my heart
When you have seen them. . . .
There's the Plaza now,
A lake of light!
To-night it almost seems
That all the lights are gathered in your eyes,
Drawn somehow toward you.
See the open park
Lying below us with a million lamps
Scattered in wise disorder like the stars.
We look down on them as God must look down
On constellations floating under Him
Tangled in clouds. . . .
Come, then, and let us walk
Since we have reached the park. It is our garden,
All black and blossomless this winter night,
But we bring April with us, you and I;
We set the whole world on the trail of spring.
I think that every path we ever took
Has marked our footprints in mysterious fire,
Delicate gold that only fairies see.
When they wake up at dawn in hollow tree-trunks
And come out on the drowsy park, they look
Along the empty paths and say, "Oh, here
They went, and here, and here, and here! Come, see,
Here is their bench, take hands and let us dance
About it in a windy ring and make
A circle round it only they can cross
When they come back again!" . . . Look at the lake --
Do you remember how we watched the swans
That night in late October while they slept?
Swans must have stately dreams, I think. But now
The lake bears only thin reflected lights
That shake a little. How I long to take
One from the cold black water -- new-made gold
To give you in your hand! And see, and see,
There is a star, deep in the lake, a star!
Oh, dimmer than a pearl -- if you stoop down
Your hand could almost reach it up to me. . . .
There was a new frail yellow moon to-night --
I wish you could have had it for a cup
With stars like dew to fill it to the brim. . . .How cold it is!
Even the lights are cold;
They have put shawls of fog around them, see!
What if the air should grow so dimly white
That we would lose our way along the paths
Made new by walls of moving mist receding
The more we follow. . . . What a silver night!
That was our bench the time you said to me
The long new poem -- but how different now,
How eerie with the curtain of the fog
Making it strange to all the friendly trees!
There is no wind, and yet great curving scrolls
Carve themselves, ever changing, in the mist.
Walk on a little, let me stand here watching
To see you, too, grown strange to me and far. . . .
I used to wonder how the park would be
If one night we could have it all alone --No lovers with close arm-encircled waists
To whisper and break in upon our dreams.
And now we have it! Every wish comes true!
We are alone now in a fleecy world;
Even the stars have gone. We two alone!
Sara Teasdale was an amazing writer, and like most brilliant writers, she died at an early age--committed suicide when she was 48 yrs old in 1933. How could she not see the light in life when she created such beauty with her words? What a tragedy.
Free People Pintucked Voile Dress, Nordstrom $148.00
Top: Ruffle Painter Henley, J.Crew $39.50. I have this shirt in pewter and turquoise. It's so lightweight and comfortable.
Organic Swing Dress, Altheta $74.00 (I bought one in Black).
Troy Wedge Sandal, Altheta $119.00
Bermuda Shorts, Altheta $59.00. These shorts are so comfortable and I love the way they fit. 
A perfect bathing suit cover-up. I want it in a brighter color though--maybe orange!
Free People 'Beach Bonfire' Romper, Nordstrom $98.00
Floral Printed Halter Romper, Baby Gap $19.50
Daddy working out while watching TV. I wish I had half of his motivation and commitment to working out. He has great arms and shoulders!!
A new dance bag, musical card and other treats from Grandma and Poppa Flynn. We let Ava open some of these gifts last night for being such a good girl for daddy all week.
