Lavender

DATE: May 10, 2011   PHOTOGRAPHER: P_mod

“...I loafe and invite my Soul;  
I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass.          
  
Houses and rooms are full of perfumes—the shelves are crowded with perfumes;  
I breathe the fragrance myself, and know it and like it;  
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

[...]

I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars,
And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren,
And the tree-toad is a chef-d’oeuvre for the highest,
And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven,
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,
And the cow crunching with depress’d head surpasses any statue,
And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels,
And I could come every afternoon of my life to look at the farmer’s girl boiling her iron tea-kettle and baking shortcake.

[...]

My lovers suffocate me!
Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin,
Jostling me through streets and public halls—coming naked to me at night,
Crying by day Ahoy! from the rocks of the river—swinging and chirping over my head,
Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush,
Lighting on every moment of my life,
Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses,
Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts, and giving them to be mine.

(Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass)”