W.B. Yeats–one of my favorite poets–described my entire relationship to the natural world perfectly through his verse. Just like the narrator in “The Song of Wandering Aengus,” I very often essentially can say that “I went out to the hazel wood/Because a fire was in my head.”
Unlike Yeats’ speaker in that poem, though, my woods activities tend to be less related to fishing (and being amazed when trouts transform into glimmering girls) and more photography-heavy. True wildflowers have arrived at last in Massachusetts, and I plan to capture each one of them before they fade into summer greens.
(That said, if any magical glimmering girls want to materialize out of thin air à la Yeats and join me on my forest adventures: you are most welcome!)
I tried to coax the flowers out of hiding by wearing floral shoes! Though it took me a while to break these flats in, they’ve now reached the apex of comfort.
The lilacs are here, too! It truly is the most wonderful time of the year. I only wish the wind would stop blowing them away…
…a hope that I’m sure these dandelions share.
Every moment I spend photographing the glowing little lives of flowers and plants sets another Yeats poem, “The Stolen Child,” spinning through my mind:
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand.
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
What are your favorite magical, forest-y poems? I could go on about Yeats–and Frost, and local girl Emily Dickinson, etc–for days!