where's the love?

Every dew-drop and rain-drop had a whole heaven within it.

{Henry Wadsworth Longfellow}

So today was a rude awakening. I was walking to work, inspiration was flowing so freely that my heart raced and tears swelled in both my eyes - and I could not wait to come here. To this sacred space.

I sat down at my desk, closed the door, heated my apple fritter and logged onto the internet. I anxiously typed in my blog address and was ungratefully greeted by a message stating that my company had blocked all blogs and personal websites {nevermind that they still allow facebook and twitter}. I closed the tab and literally re-opened the webpage three or four times. I could look, but I could not write. It was actually painful to read beautiful words and realize that I had been silenced by corporate america. No commenting. No blogging. No sweet moment of bliss where I could spill my feelings onto this page. Honestly, it made me mad,

My plan is to return to work tomorrow, say a little prayer to the "blog gods" and try to access my special place again. If that doesn't work, I'll probably pout and rush home at 5 o'clock to finally gush about my day.

So what I wanted to share with you this morning is my favorite poem. I remember reciting the words over and over while playing with the grass and flowers in my backyard as a kid. Each word dug deep into my soul and even at a young age, made my heart want to explode because the words were so perfect. I think there were a few times when I layed on my back, looking up at the clouds, and let the words flow from my tongue as tears raced down my cheeks. This poem was my first example of beauty that can only be found in words. This poem comes back to me each time I see something unique, blooming and natural. It is truly a love affair that I have with this poem,

so here goes...

My Shadow, by Robert Louis Stevenson.--

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,

And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.

He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;

And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow--

Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;

For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,

And he sometimes goes so little that there's none of him at all.

He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,

And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.

He stays so close behind me, he's a coward you can see;

I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!

One morning, very early, before the sun was up,

I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;

But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,

Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

~

{photo credit}