Things Best Said

a Sunday with Emily Dickinson

Woke up this morning feeling very quiet*. Strange for me, but I put on some classical music (Chopin if you must know) and started reading poetry…another unpredictability.

I was reminded of  a poem by Emily Dickinson that I’ve kind of always associated with my antipathy of organized religion. It seemed only fitting to re-read it on Sunday morning.

Some keep the Sabbath going to church;
I keep it staying at home,
With a bobolink for a chorister,
And an orchard for a dome.

Some keep the Sabbath in surplice;
I just wear my wings,
And instead of tolling the bell for church,
Our little sexton sings.

God preaches, – a noted clergyman, -
And the sermon is never long;
So instead of getting to heaven at last,
I’m going all along!

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*- as soon as I finished this post a chorus of lawnmowers started outside. so much for quiet.