Saturday, January 7, 2017

Snowy sunrise

It snowed in north Georgia last evening, the first snow of this winter, beginning around 8 pm. It was still going strong when we retired around 11:30 for the night. This morning, I looked out the glass door that separates our kitchen from our patio and this is what I saw:

Seeing the blanket of white on the ground and the evergreen trees on the hill and the way the sun was peeping around the edge of the house behind us, reflecting off our birdbath while the rest of the back yard remained in shadow, made me think -- I don't know why -- of this poem by Thomas Hood:

I Remember, I Remember
by Thomas Hood (1799-1845)

I remember, I remember,
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember,
The roses, red and white,
The vi'lets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,—
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from heav'n
Than when I was a boy.

Source: Poets of the English Language (Viking Press, 1950)

This is certainly not the house where I was born. I didn't have a brother. Maybe it was the line about the little window where the sun came peeping in at morn, which it does at certain times of the year here but not at others in that window of sky between the two houses. Maybe it was the fir trees dark and high (though ours are pines) with their slender tops close against the sky. I don't know. But for whatever reason, my day began in a decidedly literary fashion.

No telling what I will post when I see the first daffodil. It may make you want to wander lonely as a cloud but it will probably make me think of Puyallap, Washington, where between the years 2012 and 2016 not only have the daffodils faded but Mount Rainier seems to have disappeared as well.

Keep 'em guessing, that's what I say.


  1. I live in Alberta Canada, yes it is cold but you have so much more snow than we do, crazy eh.

  2. Just so RWP.
    That poem evokes memories of other times, other places, and our own mortality.
    Tank you rot that.

  3. Hello, there, wenda j, and welcome to the rhymeswithplague blog. I see from your profile that you are from Medicine Hat, the first resident from there with whom I have ever had the pleasure of a conversation! I do hope you are familiar with Stephen Vincent Benet's poem "American Names" which mentions your town in the first stanza and ends with the famous line, "Bury my heart at Wounded Knee." If not, you must click on the link at once.

    Hey, there, Reamus! You said you would be dropping by more frequently in 2017 and you are a man of your word. We have 22 degrees F at the moment and expecting a low of 14 by morning. I wish I were there in southern California with you as winter has never been my favorite season. Don't tell wenda j.

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  5. Snow? Colour me jealous. We are in a heat wave here, and your images are cooling heart balm.
    I grew up with 'I remember, I remember...'
    Thanks for the reminder.

  6. I enjoyed the poem. But I really liked the pictures of all those lovely daffodils.

  7. I'm no great lover of poetry as rule as YP will confirm, but I did enjoy this one. There are memories best kept as memories because going back simply reminds us that we're "farther off from heav'n than when I was a boy".

    Thank you.

  8. Thank you for sharing "I Remember, I Remember". Such a lovely, evocative poem. I hadn't read it in years.

  9. Sue, Emma, Ian, Neil, it's always good to hear from you. Your comments are as water in a dry, thirsty land.


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