I tend to get poems stuck in my head. Like songs, bits and pieces of them just rattle around in my brain, stuck in a loop on endless repeat. Well, until something else comes along to unstick them (and, usually, take their place). Does anyone else get poetry stuck in their heads? I can’t be the only one, right?
In any case, today, I have “The Stolen Child” by W.B. Yeats running through my brain. Particularly cemented in my brain is the following:
“In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams…”
Those particular lines always remind me of this photograph, taken after a heavy rainstorm in early spring, when the air was eerily still. I like the contrast of earth and sky, of the bright blues and whites against muted grays and green. I like that it looks like there’s another, brighter place hidden just below the surface. I want to pull a Mary Poppins and jump into the puddle, into the world I can just barely see.