First Known When Lost

I began this series of posts back in August of 2010.  I neglected to note at the outset of the series that I am completely unqualified to pr...

As human beings, we are adept (more or less) at putting things into words.  It is what we do.  Hence, for instance, poetry.  It has been arg...

As I have noted here in the past, I am not one to make New Year's resolutions.  Still, the turning of the year is an appropriate time to...

Today is the eightieth anniversary of the death of Ivor Gurney:  he passed away on December 26, 1937, at the age of 47.  We are naturally dr...

Our experience of Christmas changes as we grow older.  I am not speaking of historical accidents and aberrations such as, for instance, self...

I have never been to the Orkney Islands, but I have the impression that it is a world marked by a sharp contrast between darkness and light....

The time has come, dear readers, to return once again to my "November poem."  I beg your forbearance, for this is the sixth such v...

Early last week, I came across this:      With the young trout in the valley A leaf of the dwarf bamboo      Floats away. Buson (1716-...

The Oxford English Dictionary defines "bourne" as follows:  "The limit or terminus of a race, journey, or course; the ultimat...

Everyone we have ever known remains with us.  Nothing we have ever experienced vanishes.  This is not simply a matter of our ability to reta...