Though cliche it may sound, sometimes words, at least my words, aren’t big enough or rich enough to capture certain moments in time. This is true of my past weekend in the mountains. I felt as if I encountered wave after wave of joy and beauty, all in the company of some very dear friends.
This is a season of transition and parting ways–and I feel at times like my heart will crack into a million tiny pieces from the sadness that comes with this reality. But recognizing that these times won’t always be makes them all the more precious, and all the more worth recording.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkn’d ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
Poem by John Keats & Images taken at a vineyard in Polk County, NC