missing my frozen toed walk

I have so much to say about work these days. I swear I will post about Library stuff soon, it's just that I've been working  a lot-it's quarter to 10p.m. and I am just now finishing the work day that began at 9a.m.--and sleeping a lot, like a damn bear hibernating!; and just feel like I can't keep up with LIFE! In the midst of all the good stuff I go and stumble upon a lovely poem like this and fall into feeling homesick for New England, my life there a million years ago, my friends tied to that place, my lovely Farm...*sigh.*

"New England"

Here where the wind is always north-north-east

And children learn to walk on frozen toes,

Wonder begets an envy of all those

Who boil elsewhere with such a lyric yeast

Of love that you will hear them at a feast

Where demons would appeal for some repose,

Still clamoring where the chalice overflows

And crying wildest who have drunk the least.

Passion is here a soilure of the wits,

We're told, and Love a cross for them to bear;

Joy shivers in the corner where she knits

And Conscience always has the rocking-chair,

Cheerful as when she tortured into fits

The first cat that was ever killed by Care.

 --E.A. Robinson