When I read the first two lines I initially took "little" as an adjective and "everywhere" as its noun. Made an odd but pleasant cummings-ish sort of jolt.
I'm slightly puzzled by the oak and sycamore being "sore from steel." I guess it means ice, not blows from an ax or cuts from a saw?
I love this! I had no idea Cather wrote poetry. I have not consciously thought about the phenomenon she describes here, but I was noticing it this year -- all the blooming flowers (our phlox, tulips, and on and on), and the sudden blooming of the dogwood and redbud just after -- but the more stately trees still with bare branches . . . What a fascinating take on it Cather gives us, what a lovely reminder to wait in hope when life seems barren in us while bursting all around us.
When I read the first two lines I initially took "little" as an adjective and "everywhere" as its noun. Made an odd but pleasant cummings-ish sort of jolt.
I'm slightly puzzled by the oak and sycamore being "sore from steel." I guess it means ice, not blows from an ax or cuts from a saw?
I love this! I had no idea Cather wrote poetry. I have not consciously thought about the phenomenon she describes here, but I was noticing it this year -- all the blooming flowers (our phlox, tulips, and on and on), and the sudden blooming of the dogwood and redbud just after -- but the more stately trees still with bare branches . . . What a fascinating take on it Cather gives us, what a lovely reminder to wait in hope when life seems barren in us while bursting all around us.
I love this. My friend Josh is currently doing a community read of Carter’s My Ántonia right now. I will share this post with him!