Ode to Phyllis: Happy are they who live and die enjoying what they love

And here the precious dust is layd;
Whose purely temper’d Clay was made
So fine, that it the guest betray’d.

Else the soule grew so fast within,
It broke the outward shell of sinne,
And so was hatch’d a Cherubin.

~Thomas Carew

Many of you may know that I recently moved, but maybe not that I’m living in the same neighborhood or that I’ve been here for the last 12 years. I’d gotten to know a few of my neighbors who were more settled than the mostly transient population of our village. Of those I knew by name, I’ve admired Phyllis a great deal.

Phyllis had created a fairy kingdom of a home, a loving project that spanned a half century or so. Her cottage looks like something from the English countryside. She tended a rare and unique moss in her yard. Her graceful trees sheltered choruses of birds making nests and heralding the passing hours, night and day. Her roof was thatch shingled, and I often swore I’d just seen Continue reading →