Quinn's Treks & Texts

 

     After walking through and reflecting on the two readings for tomorrow’s class, beginning with White’s “The Snakes Are About,” something that I found interesting and challenging about White’s story was how attuned to and possessive he became over one snake in particular: the “well-grown female with a scar on her neck” (p. 477). After White’s claim earlier on in his story that he handles the snakes as little as possible and does not “want to steal them from themselves by making them pets,” he goes on to describe the intense process by which he catches them and decides to bring them, thrashing and biting and trying desperately to get back to the comfortable shade of the undergrowth, into his home. Perhaps I am reading too far into this, but White’s curiosity about the snakes — his thirst to “meditate upon them like a jeweler for months” — seems to take precedence over leaving the snakes where they ought to be: where they want to live. In other words, something that I wr...

There’s something magical about a day spent by the ocean; the rushing and crashing sounds of the waves, the warmth of sand beneath your feet, and the feel of the freezing cold water rolling towards you. Stinson Beach has been a treasure trove of sorts for my family and, so, last winter when I was home for Christmas Break, my mom, my brother, my dog, and I spent a quiet morning enjoying all that it has to offer. My brother’s goal was to brave the cold of the water and take a “polar plunge;” my mom wanted to get Gracie oriented with the ocean and to practice her puppy training commands; I was looking forward to walking along the waterline and seeing what I would come across, the shells and sand dollars and little creatures of hidden underneath the water and in the sand. On that January morning, the sky was heavy and gray with rain clouds, the ocean was dark and churning and freezing cold, and we were so excited to be there. As the rain and drizzle set in and kept many others away, it was...

How necessary is it to have opinions! I think the spotted trout Lilies are satisfied, standing a few inches above the earth. I Think serenity is not something you just find in the world, L ike a plum tree, holding up its white petals. The violets, along the river, are opening their blue faces, like Small dark lanterns. The green mosses, being so many, are as good as brawny. How important it is to walk along, not in haste but slowly, Looking at everything and calling out Yes! No! The Swan, for all his pomp, his robes of glass and petals, wants Only to be allowed to live on the nameless pond. The catbrier Is without fault. The water thrushes, down among the sloppy Rocks, are going crazy with happiness. Imagination is better Than a sharp instrument. To pay attention, this our endless And proper work. I found “Yes! No!” to be a fitting conclusion to my reflections on Mary Oliver’s Devotions. As I walked through Devotions, this particular devotion caught my eye because it seemed to captu...

As for life, I’m humbled, I’m without words Sufficient to say How it has been hard as flint, And soft as a spring pond, Both of these And over and over, And long pale afternoons besides, And so many mysteries Beautiful as eggs in a nest, Still unhatched Though warm and watched over By something I have never seen – A tree angel, perhaps, Or a ghost of holiness. Every day I walk out into the world To be dazzled, and then to be reflective. It suffices, it is all comfort – Along with human love, Dog love, water love, little-serpent love, Sunburst love, or love for that smallest of birds Flying among the scarlet flowers. There is hardly time to think about Stopping, and lying down at last To the long afterlife, to the tenderness Yet to come, when Time will brim over the singular pond, and become forever, And we will pretend to melt away into the leaves. As for death, I can’t wait to be a hummingbird, Can you? What caught my eye about this poem was the beautiful, evocative way that Oliver de...