First Known When Lost

On a recent late-summer-declining-into-early-autumn afternoon, as I walked toward a distant big-leaf maple, watching its green boughs swayin...

One might not expect the poetry of Robert Louis Stevenson and A. E. Housman to share a great deal in common:  Stevenson, teller of tales, in...

One evening this past week, after sundown, I sat beside an open window that looks on to the back garden, reading Wordsworth's "Loui...

It is July, and the sweet peas -- purple-pink, pink-purple, and, now and then, white -- are in bloom on both sides of a path I walk along be...

I am easy to please.  Mind you, I make no claim to uniqueness of character or to philosophical attainment.  No, any easy-to-pleaseness that ...

Today, as I walked beneath a green-canopied tree tunnel, I remembered that the summer solstice will arrive later this week. Despite the vaul...

A four-line poem written in China in the Fourth or Fifth Century A.D. Perhaps a song.  The poet is unknown. I heard my love was going to Y...

"Bourne" is one of my favorite words.  I discussed it in a post back in June of 2013 , and returned to it again in October of 2017...

I have returned to the shores of Puget Sound after my visit to the shores of the Pacific, and I find myself in a burgeoned and burgeoning gr...

As was the case around this time last year, a thousand-mile road trip has brought me to the shores of the Pacific on the Central Coast of Ca...