So I summed up my new resolves:
Too much love there can never be.
And where the intellect devolves
Its function on love exclusively,
I, a man who possesses both,
Will accept the provision, nothing loth,
--Will feast my love, then depart elsewhere,
That my intellect may find its share.
And ponder, O soul, the while thou departest,
And see them applaud the great heart of the artist,
Who, examining the capabilities
Of the block of marble he has to fashion
Into a type of thought or passion.
~ from Christmas Eve, Robert Browning, 1850 ~
Too much love there can never be.
And where the intellect devolves
Its function on love exclusively,
I, a man who possesses both,
Will accept the provision, nothing loth,
--Will feast my love, then depart elsewhere,
That my intellect may find its share.
And ponder, O soul, the while thou departest,
And see them applaud the great heart of the artist,
Who, examining the capabilities
Of the block of marble he has to fashion
Into a type of thought or passion.
~ from Christmas Eve, Robert Browning, 1850 ~
Our very own Christmas miracle: Amelia, vibrant, effusive, intact. Alive.
Loving on the uncles.
Sweetness of cousin-twins.
May you enjoy the last breaths of this breathless Christmas season - the dark velvet nights with pinpoint cold stars; the feet of fresh snow blanketing the ugliness of the frozen earth; the warmth of a child's breath in and out on your cheek; the tensions and intense love that make our families family; the joyous squeals of kids over new toys; the last of the Christmas cookies; a glass of port wine; lights flickering in the dry evergreen;silent nights and busy days.
*more photographs to come from the Thul celebrations in the next days!
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