The blizzard of 2015 was the subject of publicity before during and after, but our luck with scheduling held to where we were just coming back through Harvard Square and it's onset and the parking ban. The lights stayed on and by the end of the week we were in Boston having lunch together while picked up a copy of Hamlet, which I'm studying online with the University of Birmingham- learning the moment of the quote The time is out of joint" and the quote "The glass of fashion and the mold of form, the observed of all observers".
Last night, I went out to the courtyard- we are blanketed in snow- with a high wind- and the wild rabbit could be seen beneath a tree on the other side of the railroad tracks- that area has recently been used as an on location movie set if you've been glancing through the blog.
I mentioned that oddly there is one patch of grass in the courtyard quad and coincidentally it is exactly where the wild rabbit could be found for the last two-three months. You would have no way of knowing ahead of time that the snow can't drift into that area due to the height of one side, which is actually nineteen floors of the skyline, and the leg to of the other side. Tonight it is exactly where the wild rabbit returned to, without our knowing how he found it. The actual snowfall buried bicycles, parking meters and trash barrels. We also have a hawk that might be reappearing, this one seems white whereas the other was a red tail. All that's really of interest in walking distance is the Boston Museum Science.
I'm running behind, or out of time with poetry, but we covered The Poetic Principle by Edgar Allen Poe with the online course from Harvard University. But add to that A Defense of Poetry by Percy Bysshe Shelley, which we are looking at for UPenn Poetry online. If you liked the essay by Poe, by all means, read it with the essay by Shelley.
To be a poet is to apprehend the beautiful, in a word, the good which exists in the relation subsisting first between existence and perception, and secondly, between perception and expression...A poem is the very image of life expressed in its eternal truth.
