All week I have been thinking about Martin Luther King Jr.'s speech, on the 50th anniversary of the March on Washington, the majesty and magnitude of it, the cadences, the poetry and the power.

I thought a lot about words. The way they lift us, how they can 

carry us to new and better places. I passed the Statue of Liberty early this morning and those words tumbled back to me.

"'My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountain side, let freedom ring.' And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true."

http://my.chicagotribune.com/#section/-1/article/p2p-77162201/

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15615

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=XBa55sDTIiA&desktop_uri=%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DXBa55sDTIiA

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175887

New York, New York

There was a gauzy film over the city, as if it hadn't quite woken.

A fence post on the walk around Walden Pond. 

A quiet sun-drenched corner of the Concord Library with long oak tables and sculptures and busts of Emerson, Thoreau and Alcott, a lovely place to lose an hour.

She was playing violin under a tree in Central Park, a statue of Shakespeare just behind her.

A pink ribbon,

a bit of fabric,

changed worlds.

The tree was shimmering in the sunlight and 

the leaves seemed to dance in the light wind, 

until I looked closer and saw 

that were not leaves, but birds.

Bryant Park very late one Friday night and even then,
the New York Public Library just at its edge
beckoned.

The little farm stand we visit on summer afternoons is open again.  
The baskets are full of new peaches and tomatoes and peppers. 
Just-picked corn fills a long table and spills out of burlap bags, 
just in from the fields. 

Happened upon this pair in Central Park, 

relaxing on a small blanket as their puppeteer 

chatted with folks passing by.