“…my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took
its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.”
- Pablo Neruda
(Click on the above text links to read more from one of my favourite poets. Plus read about him in this week's news, here.)
For the weather whingers out there who bemoaned the cold and snow: I hope you’re happy now.
Rainy days in the low 40s Fahrenheit resolving to nighttime lows around freezing make for an interesting morning commute hereabouts.
But beauty still abounds, as here in the misting rain suspended on last season’s tenacious leaves.
