Photo & Poem Gallery

O FLOWERS of the garden, of skilled and human care,
Sweet heliotrope, and violet, and orchid frail and fair,
Pour out your love to happier hearts; the woodland flowers for me,

The city orbits around eight million
centers of the universe 

and turns around the golden clock
at the still point of this place. 

"Happiness is a field of tulips, each petal a burst of joy in the garden of life."

"Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair."

The bud
stands for all things,
even for those things that don't flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,

Once in a wood at winter’s end,
The withered sun, becoming young,
Turned the white silence into sound:
Bird after bird rose up in song.
The skeletons of snow-blocked trees

Baudelaire considers you his brother,
and Fielding calls out to you every few paragraphs 
as if to make sure you have not closed the book,

Baudelaire considers you his brother,
and Fielding calls out to you every few paragraphs 
as if to make sure you have not closed the book,

Bolt and bar the shutter,
For the foul winds blow:
Our minds are at their best this night,
And I seem to know

From many places
To many voices I hear,
I sought only one.
I am who I am
Where you are, and I'll be who