Poetry: Marshlands by Emily Pauline Johnson
A thin wet sky, that yellows at the rim,
And meets with sun-lost lip the marsh’s brim.
The pools low lying, dank with moss and mould,
Glint through their mildews like large cups of gold
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Lyrical: To Live Is To Fly by Townes Van Zandt
Days, up and down they come/Like rain on a conga drum/Forget most, remember some/But don’t turn none away

Art: Georges Seurat’s Aman-Jean (Portrait of Edmond François Aman-Jean)

Quote: “Silence at the proper season is wisdom, and better than any speech.” – Plutarch

Recipe: Cabbage Potato Pie

Anywhere But Here: Peace Maze of Northern Ireland, Castlewellan, Northern Ireland