Tuesday, December 4

roots

ROOTS and leaves themselves alone are these; 
Scents brought to men and women from the wild woods, and from the pond-side, 
Breast-sorrel and pinks of love—fingers that wind around tighter than vines, 
Gushes from the throats of birds, hid in the foliage of trees, as the sun is risen; 
Breezes of land and love—breezes set from living shores out to you on the living
sea—to
you, O sailors!
Frost-mellow’d berries, and Third-month twigs, offer’d fresh to young persons
wandering
out in the fields when the winter breaks up, 
Love-buds, put before you and within you, whoever you are, 
Buds to be unfolded on the old terms; 
If you bring the warmth of the sun to them, they will open, and bring form, color,
perfume, to
you; 
If you become the aliment and the wet, they will become flowers, fruits, tall blanches and
trees.

by Walt Whitman






all images © Manuela Thames

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