Daffydowndilly has come to town
In her yellow petticoat and a green gown.
And there you have it: the sole piece of poetry stored in my memory, and one which I solemnly repeat to Aimée on every walk as we pass daffodils.
This leads me to ponder my own self-education and to add my copy of Emily Dickinson to the list of books I will be absorbing this year. Have I mentioned this project? Twenty minutes of focused reading through a solid, serious book. A picture on Pinterest of all the books one could work through in this way for a year is my inspiration.
And I am delighted to report that I have already completed a huge biography, a collection of EB White's essays, the biography of two young women teaching school during our country's expansion into the west and a rather disturbing volume revealing some of the issues surrounding the religious leader I was raised under. I love seeing my mind stretch and grow. I love settling down with pen in hand to make notes and treat each book as a classroom. More than that I love seeing my understanding of the world and humanity continue to be shaped as I turn each page.
So until I swim my way through the volumes to the much-loved Emily I continue on, repeating the little verse so loved as a child to my own little girl.
