And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became...
The early lilacs became part of this child...
And the song of the phoebe bird --Walt Whitman
Oct 6, 2022-- "Every generation of children instinctively nests itself in nature, no matter how tiny a scrap of it they can grasp. In a tale of one city child, the poet Audre Lorde remembers picking tufts of grass which crept up through the cracks in paving stones in New York City and giving them as bouquets to her mother. It is a tale of two necessities. The grass must grow, no matter the concrete suppressing it. The child must find her way to the green, no matter the edifice which would crush it." Jay Griffith shares more in this haunting and beautiful essay. (1611 reads)
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We are all leaves on different branches of the same tree.
Laura Lynne Jackson
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