tree boughs scrape against • the edge of the roof, singing • with low vibrato Continue reading →
Tuesday I went over to the Clark to hear a talk about John Singer Sargent and had a short time beforehand to look at some new and newly rearranged things in the gallery – where did the nymphs and satyr … Continue reading →
Almost every year about this time when the temperature starts dipping into the “man is it cold” state of things I am reminded of this book, Our Own Sung Fireside, Images of the New England Home 1760-1860 by Jane C. Nylander Continue reading →
Whatever befalls the earth befalls the son of the earth. Man did not weave the web of life; he is merely a strand of it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.
