What The Dog Perhaps Hears by Lisel Mueller

Photographer Unknown
photographer unknown (?)

What The Dog Perhaps Hears by Lisel Mueller


If an inaudible whistle

blown between our lips

can send him home to us,

then silence is perhaps

the sound of spiders breathing

and roots mining the earth;

it may be asparagus heaving,

headfirst, into the light

and the long brown sound

of cracked cups, when it happens.

We would like to ask the dog

if there is a continuous whir

because the child in the house

keeps growing, if the snake

really stretches full length

without a click and the sun

breaks through clouds without

a decibel of effort,

whether in autumn, when the trees

dry up their wells, there isn’t a shudder

too high for us to hear.

 What is it like up there

above the shut-off level

of our simple ears?

For us there was no birth cry,

the newborn bird is suddenly here,

the egg broken, the nest alive,

and we heard nothing when the world changed.



“At times I feel as if I am spread out over the landscape and inside things, and am myself living in every tree, in the splashing of the waves, in the clouds and the animals that come and go, in the procession of the seasons.”
Carl Jung

‘Earthcoat_ by Robert and Shana Parke Harrison
‘Earthcoat’ by Robert and Shana Parke Harrison

Nature begins to whisper

All of nature begins to whisper its secrets to us through its sounds. Sounds that were previously incomprehensible to our soul now become the meaningful language of nature.

~ Rudolf Steiner

Ian Cheyne, Hell's Glen


The Temple With A Thousand Halls


“And what yesterday appeared to be a garden or a park or a jungle, today or
tomorrow is recognized as a temple, a temple with a thousand halls and courtyards in which the spirit of all nations and times is present, constantly waiting for reawakening, ever ready to recognize the many-voiced multiplicity of its phenomena as a unity. ”

– Hermann Hesse


1889 Man sitting on a bench inside the Hollow Tree in Stanley Park, Vancouver (unknown)

It will have its own – Mary Webb

The British novelist and poet Mary Webb, around 1920. Credit Dorothy Hicklin
The British novelist and poet Mary Webb, around 1920. Credit Dorothy Hicklin

“For the love of nature is a passion for those in whom it once lodges. It can never be quenched. It cannot change. It is a furious, burning, physical greed, as well as a state of mystical exaltation. It will have its own.”
Mary Webb from The House in Dormer Forest (circa 1921)

Webb 6
The young Mary Webb

The Mary Webb Society website 

The Ancient Gods – Mary Webb

Certainly there were splashings in the water,
Certainly there were shadows on the hill,
Dark with the leaves of purple-spotted orchis;
But now all’s still.

It may be that the catkin-covered sallow,
With her illusive, glimmering surprise,
Pale golden-tinted as a tall young goddess,
Deceived my eyes;

And the white birches wading in the margin,
Each one a naked and a radiant god,
Dazzled me; and the foam was flung by currents
Where no feet trod.

Only I know I saw them–stately, comely,
Within the leafy shadows of the stream;
They woke amid the shallow, singing water
A fading gleam.

They left no trail for any beast to follow,
No track upon the moss for man to trace;
In a long, silent file up-stream they vanished
With measured pace.

The hollow water curved about their ankles
Like amber; splashes glistened on their thighs;
Sun barred their lifted heads and their far-seeing
Yet sightless eyes.

Some were like women, with deep hair of willows,
Bare breasts and gracious arms and long, smooth hips,
And the red roses of desire half frozen
Upon their lips:

But most were massive-browed and massive-shouldered
And taller than the common height of men.
They went as those that have not home nor kindred,
Nor come again.

Still, where the birches fingered their reflection,
The thrushes chanted to the evening sky;
Still the grey wagtails raced across the shingle
As they went by.

Beyond the furthest of the saffron shallows
I lost them in the larches’ rainy green,
And only saw the stretches of marsh-mallows
Where they had been.

You say the sallow and the birch deceived me:
But I know well that I beheld to-day
The ancient gods, unheralded, majestic,
Upon their way.

Mary Webb © by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes

Kiss the joy as it flies

ccSydney Long (1871-1955)

He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity’s sun rise.

– William Blake

image: Sydney Long (1871-1955)

Everything is flowing – like blood in Nature’s warm heart

“Everything is flowing — going somewhere, animals and so-called lifeless rocks as well as water. Thus the snow flows fast or slow in grand beauty-making glaciers and avalanches; the air in majestic floods carrying minerals, plant leaves, seeds, spores, with streams of music and fragrance; water streams carrying rocks… While the stars go streaming through space pulsed on and on forever like blood…in Nature’s warm heart.” – John Muir

Konstantin Bogaevsky

image: Konstantin Bogaevsky

Obstacle or Opportunity

Childhood is that state which ends the moment a puddle is first viewed as an obstacle instead of an opportunity


Shirley Baker1964

Shirley Baker 1964

Every step we take on earth brings us to a new world – Federico Garcia Lorca


After the Rain, 1930_s, Pál Kaczur

After the Rain, 1930’s, Pál Kaczur

Every step we take on earth
brings us to a new world.