Sugar, spice and all things nice...

One more month of waiting to experience Spring in its full glory, to wake up to the warmth of the morning sun and take in the full expense of greenery before my eyes. Meanwhile, one last month to enjoy the little pleasures of hiding in the central library early in the morning, drinking my daily cup of teh-o and eating Apollo chocolate biscuits for breakfast.

Perhaps one of Woodsworth’s most famous poems would best explain this liminality that I feel. A state of immanence and transcendence, wanting to grasp this shelteredness so tightly in my hand, yet desperately awaiting the breaking dawn of a new day.

And O most constant, yet most fickle Place, 
Thou hast thy wayward moods, as thou dost show 
To them who look not daily on thy face; 
Who, being loved, in love no bounds dost know, 
And say’st, when we forsake thee, “Let them go!” 
Thou easy-hearted Thing, with thy wild race 
Of weeds and flowers, till we return be slow, 
And travel with the year at a soft pace. 

Help us to tell Her tales of years gone by, 
And this sweet spring, the best beloved and best; 
Joy will be flown in its mortality; 
Something must stay to tell us of the rest. 
Here, thronged with primroses, the steep rock’s breast 
Glittered at evening like a starry sky; 
And in this bush our sparrow built her nest, 
Of which I sang one song that will not die.

(via flairey)