when on the moss-green hill the wandering wind
drowses, and lays his brazen trumpet down,
when snow-fed waters gurgle, cold and brown,
and wintered birds creep from the stacks to find
solace, while each bright eye begins to see
a visionary nest in every tree —
let us away, out of the murky day
of sullen towns, into the silver noise
of woods where every bud has found her way
sunward, and every leaf has found a voice.
― mary webb
in the midst of this work storm i'm currently living in,
a little green pause, of sunnier and outdoorsy days
have a wonderful day
♥
