Life Happens!
Life Happens!
Down in a green and shady bed A modest violet grew; Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, As if to hide from view. And yet it was a lovely flower, Its colors bright and fair! It might have graced a rosy bower, Instead of hiding there. Yet there it was content to bloom, In modest tints arrayed; And there diffused its sweet perfume, Within the silent shade. Then let me to the valley go, This pretty flower to see, That I may also learn to grow In sweet humility. –Jane Taylor
Every valley drinks, Every dell and hollow: Where the kind rain sinks and sinks, Green of Spring will follow. Yet a lapse of weeks Buds will burst their edges, Strip their wool-coats, glue-coats, streaks, In the woods and hedges; Weave a bower of love For birds to meet each other, Weave a canopy above Nest and egg and mother. But for fattening rain We should have no flowers, Never a bud or leaf again But for soaking showers; Never a mated bird In the rocking tree-tops, Never indeed a flock or herd To graze upon the lea-crops. Lambs so woolly …
Many, many welcomes, February fair-maid! Ever as of old time, Solitary firstling, Coming in the cold time, Prophet of the gay time, Prophet of the May time, Prophet of the roses, Many, many welcomes, February fair-maid! — Alfred, Lord Tennyson
The classification of the calendar in four groups of three months based on the prevailing temperature conditions is said called Meteorological seasons. This is a more precise way of segmenting the year. So what are these seasons, and why are these seasons important? In this piece, we will try finding some answers to those questions. According to meteorological studies, all the seasons start on the first day of all months that either includes a solstice or an equinox. Based on the above, the seasons are grouped as: The Spring season starts from March 1st to May 31st. The summer season …
From muddy road to muddy lane I plodded through the falling rain; For miles and miles was nothing there But mist, and mud, and hedges bare. At length approaching I espied Two gipsy women side by side; They turned their faces broad and bold And brown and freshened by the cold, And stared at me in gipsy wise With shrewd, unfriendly, savage eyes. No word they said, no more dared I; And so we passed each other by— The only living things that met In all those miles of mist and wet. — Frances Darwin Cornford