There's a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the weight
Of cathedral tunes.
Heavenly hurt it gives us;
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the meanings are.
None may teach it anything,
'T is the seal, despair, -
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air.
When it comes, the landscape listens,
Shadows hold their breath;
When it goes, 't is like the distance
On the look of death.
by Emily Dickinson
The poem and photo go well together ...
ReplyDeleteYou can't beat a bit of Emily Dickinson. She's perfect for Barely-Leave-the-House-It's-so-Miserable February. Lovely.
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