Archive for December, 2016

Along with countless others I am in love with Emily Dickinson for her brilliance, unique use of language, her gardens and flowers, her solitude, fragility, and her quirkiness and grace. Some maintained she lived “on the outskirts of sanity.” I wish I had been there on that day, May 19, 1886 in Amherst, Massachusetts, when her coffin was carried through fields of buttercups to the cemetery. Her devoted sister Lavinia had placed heliotrope in her hand and ringed her neck ...