BurningbirdThe year’s at the spring, And day’s at the morn; Morning’s at seven; The hill-side’s dew-pearled; The lark’s on the wing; The snail’s on the thorn; God’s in his Heaven’ All’s right with the world! Robert Browning “The Year’s at The Spring”
Recovered from the Wayback Machine. Doc wrote today: We’ve won in Iraq. The citizens of Bagdad are elated. Nothing like a toppled statue to make a conclusive point. … The sounds I heard coming from Cheney this morning were very encouraging. If we do what he says we’re doing, maybe we can restore some level of trust in an Arab world […]
Expect nothing. Live frugally On surprise. become a stranger To need of pity Or, if compassion be freely Given out Take only enough Stop short of urge to plead Then purge away the need. Wish for nothing larger Than your own small heart Or greater than a star; Tame wild disappointment With caress unmoved and […]
Ducks say hi.