a random act of poetry, courtesy of e.e. cummings

(Photo: Michael Howell)

(Photo: Michael Howell)

Lately, my eight-year-old daughter and I have been playing a game on our walks to school. How many different sorts of flowers are blooming right now? Today, we counted 22. Over the weekend, it was only 19. Who knows, maybe tomorrow we’ll see as many as 25. It’s that time of year. Finally.

The principal of my daughter’s school closed a recent email with this poem by e.e. cummings. It seems wildly appropriate, so I thought I’d share it with you.

(Photo: Michael Howell)

(Photo: Michael Howell)

spring is maybe like a hand
(which comes in from nowhere)
and arranges a picture, which people stare at
while people stare, it changes things
very carefully placing new things and moving
old things

very carefully

spring is maybe like a
hand in the picture
(carefully moving new and
old things, while
people are looking intently
changing maybe
just a tiny bit of a flower or putting
a bit of air someplace and

without breaking anything.

(Photo: Michael Howell)

(Photo: Michael Howell)

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About Shala Howell

I spent two decades helping companies like Bell Labs, Juniper Networks, and a genetic testing company that was later acquired by CVS translate some of the world’s most complicated concepts into actionable, understandable English. Now I'm working on a much harder problem -- fostering children’s curiosity and engagement in the scientific, artistic, and linguistic world that surrounds them. The first book in my Caterpickles Parenting Series, What’s That, Mom?, focuses on how to use public art to nurture children’s curiosity in the world around them. My next book, Did Dinosaurs Have Belly Buttons?, is currently planned for release in 2018. In the meantime, you can find me blogging about life with a very curious Ten-Year-Old at Caterpickles.com, chatting about books and the writing life at BostonWriters.blog, and tweeting about books, writing, science, & things that make me smile at @shalahowell.
This entry was posted in Miscellaneous Musings, Poetry for Kids and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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