The Canon before the Canon

Yesterday we read excerpts of Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene; this was the first time I had actually read any substantial part of the epic, despite my interest in this time and love of fairy stories. Not surprisingly, the reading is dense, but I was struck by how many references and vignettes I could draw from the excerpts that we read. Classical references abound, and not surprisingly so, but where as other scholars recognize these stories, I found myself yesterday identifying classical
references through works of art I’ve seen in art history courses. While I’ve never taken a course in classics, I saw Bernini’s Apollo and Daphne in the pursuit of Florimel by Foster. Florimel’s loose, beautiful hair is described as she is chased by the “grisly” and unchaste forester and doesn’t escape culpability in the poem; she was tantalizing, afterall… [I could go on and on about this problematic discussion, but seeing as that would be an entirely lengthy rant, I’ll continue on for now.] Bernini’s sculpture was created after Spenser’s poem, created in the 1620s; had Bernini read Spenser? If not, it’s clear to see a similarity of stories and tropes that both Spenser and this sculpture relate to in conversation with a classical world.

Beyond the classical world, echoes of Nordic mythology resonate through Spenser. I read both the Prose Edda and Poetic Edda–the primary texts remaining from the ancient Nordic canon–for a course in Norse mythology last year and was surprised by the number of connections I saw between The Faerie Queene and these texts. Themes, archetypes, and the dense verse read very similarly to these translations of myth; even some of the characters names seemed reminiscent of these Norse stories. Britomart, the personification of strong Chastity in Spenser’s Book III reads much like a valkyrie (a strong, female warrior) and the story of Brunhild, a shieldmaiden and tragic heroine. For the most part, old Nordic studies is a relatively small discipline in modern academia but for scholars and authors of the past, these influences are visible [Tolkien’s work is a more modern example]; what I’m curious about is what scholars from Spenser’s day (and even in Tolkein’s time) would have considered as influential works–was Norse myth a canon to the authors of the early English canon?

It is compelling to consider the crosses of temporal and cultural canons that authors of the past and present would be familiar with. Over the course of this reflection, as a modern scholar I see connections between ancient Norse myth, Spenser’s epic of the late 1590s, Bernini’s sculpture of the early 17th century, and Tolkein’s hail to these same motifs. Did artistic dialog influence these repetitions or do these tropes and vignettes distill genuine aspects of the human experience to remain relevant? Is this the quintessential factor of mimesis and art imitating nature? Its a big question and if there is one, an immense answer. I make no claims to having any great insights into this, at least at this time, but it’s been on my mind and now, well…on this blog.

Manners Maketh Man

In my meeting with librarians on Friday, it was suggested that a genre that may be of interest would be in early modern courtesy books, books that sought to instruct and inform on how to ‘behave’ in contemporary society. Some of these books may be classified as domestic and written in regards to “housewifery” and one would think, include marks of female readership. Courtesy books extend through stratified spheres in the early modern world, from housewives and recipes to books of courtly instruction and etiquette of how to be a lady. With this in mind, I’ve poured over a checklist compiled at the Newberry in the 1940s to pull titles of works written by women or are deemed “for women”; my list of primary sources to scour for margnialia has grown exponentially. In retrospect, one of the most interesting books I’ve seen thus far was a courtier’s book. Courtesy books are interesting in the vast variety of materials that they include and the look into the early modern world’s ideals is very intriguing and brings up the question of reader’s “place” in a different light.

Two of the materials I encountered in today’s paging session were of the same book, William Whately’s A Bride-Bvsh,  Or, A Direction for Married Persons. Plainely Describing the Duties Common to Both, and Peculiar to Each of Them. By Performing of Which, Marriage Shall Prooue a Great Helpe to Such, as Now for Want of Performing Them, Doe Finde It a Little Hell. Quite the mouthful, I know. [And for anyone needing a brush up on middle English, the title would read as “A Bride-Bush, Or a Direction for Married Persons, Plainly Describing the Duties Common to Both and Peculiar to Each of Them. By Performing of Which, Marriage Shall Prove a Great Help to Such, as Now for Want of Performing Them, Do Find It a Little Hell”; mind the v’s and u’s.] And so, in essence, an early modern guide to a happy marriage.  These two copies were printed 4 years apart–the earlier from 1619 and the later from1623. Both books were printed in London; I’m interested in looking into the different printers and their print shops and if they would have served different types of readers. It is also curious to consider the difference between these years; was book culture similar to the modern difference (or at least modern from my childhood) of hardcover vs. paperback? Can it be assumed that the earlier book ‘hot off the press’ would have been in the hands of a well-to-do reader? Would the material be outdated in the matter of four years? These are a few questions that have yet to be explored, and to determine an approach to finding out.

For the most part, the text and format of the pages of these books were similar, if not the same, although I did not as of yet do a page-by-page, side-by-side analysis. It is in characteristics beyond content that make these holdings of interest (at least for this research). The 1619^[1] volume is still in its original (and very brittle) binding. Marks of a reader are present in this copy already on the title page, although the ink traces are of a note scrawled on its inverse and is difficult to make out from its original side. There are no extensive readers notes or marginal scrawling in the rest of the volume. Why is it of any interest then? ☞ Manicules! Manicules are small hands drawn by readers to mark passages; this volume has 9 pages that include the little hands, with most of these pages including multiple maniucules. The 1623^[2] copy is also home to marginalia. This text has been rebound it would seem from the condition of the binding and presence of marbled paper (common in later book binding). The volume shows ownership of at least three individuals in an owner’s plate c. 1814, a note from a scrawled signature stating a claim on “his book” from 1746, and a son’s inheritance in 1925 from his father. A signature proceeds the latter of these two claims and is written in a hand that resembles contemporaneous writing from the book’s printing. Below this name is a note that will require another look, a magnifying glass, and a crash course in early modern paleography. The marginalia beyond these inscriptions occurs twice, where sections of text are blocked off and a reader’s marginal note comments on these sections.

It was compelling to see two copies of a text in dialog with each other to draw comparisons and consider the difference of treatment and history between two volumes of the same text. I am excited to continue to explore early modern marginalia, particularly in the genre of courtesy books and will most likely be seeing these tomes again soon enough.

^[1] Whately, William, Felix Kingston, and Thomas Man. A Bride-Bush, Or, A Direction for Married Persons: Plainely Describing the Duties Common to Both, and Peculiar to Each of Them, by Performing of Which, Marriage Shall Prooue a Great Helpe to Such, as Now for Want of Performing Them, Doe Find It a Little Hell. London: Imprinted by Felix Kyngston for Thomas Man, and are to be sold at his shop in Pater-noster-row, at the signe of the Talbot, 1619.

^[2] Whately, William. A Bride-Bvsh. Or, A Direction for Married Persons. Plainely Describing the Duties Common to Both, and Peculiar to Each of Them. By Performing of Which, Marriage Shall Prooue a Great Helpe to Such, as Now for Want of Performing Them, Doe Finde It a Little Hell. London: Printed by B. Alsop for B. Fisher, 1623.

Episode IV: A New Hope

At the close of this fourth week, I find myself accepting that sometimes, the Force is out of our hands (as is necessary with any young scholar, of the Jedi arts or otherwise). “May the cataloger have been thorough and included mention of (or the dream–description of) marginalia in material descriptions.” Today, my writing group colleague (and Conservation Lab/medieval–early modern studies buddy!) and I met with two of the Newberry staff whose expertise were relevant to our topics. Through the course of our 40 minute meeting, we were gifted with numerous suggestions on our individual topics, ideas of how to search for relevant holdings, authors and titles to search for, and at least for me–the assurance that my current approach to this project makes sense. I’ve been dividing my research time so far between reading secondary sources to gain a background and basis of what I was seeing in early modern marginalia and where to find it. I’ve also begun to page through the oodles (yes, I just typed “oodles”) of early modern works that through cues in descriptions, contain at least some marginalia. To determine what marginalia is actually present in these texts, and before I can focus down to specific themes, I need to page through an immense amount of material. I was beginning to doubt if I was going about something the wrong way, or missing a way to simplify things, but after today’s meeting and having it validated that this course was, frankly, what I need to do, I feel reassured that with endurance and patience, this project will come together. It was fantastic to get some leads and before diving into more research tomorrow, I feel a resurgence of hope and trusting myself to proceed.

how I was feeling, before getting some confirmation that I’m headed in the right direction…

of chai teas and poetry readings.

This evening has been a calm one and after a long week, was much needed. This week saw the beginning of my internship in the Conservation Lab; so far we have been trained to make clamshell boxes for books and sorted a “hell case” of letterpress type. On foggy Tuesday morning, we had a seminar excursion to an architectural boat tour. Through the mist and chilly wind, it was grounding to take in the famous buildings on the river’s edge and eery to watch skyscrapers fade up into low hanging mist. (A synthesis of my thoughts on the city and “seeing” the wilderness is coming shortly.)

Tensions within our group escalated this week to a point of discomfort but after honest conversation and reflection, things have diffused again. Nonetheless: this added stress has been draining. To be able to relax a bit tonight has been necessary. After an impromptu poetry reading of favorite poems with my fantastic roommate, a listening session to The Ballroom Thieves (a chill, folksy, singer-songwriter band whose concert later this month is already on my calendar), and sipping a homemade chai, I find myself recharged, excited, and happy to be in this program and in this city.

Marks of Many Minds: An edition of Cicero’s “Of Olde Age” and multiple readers’ hands

The first primary source that I’ve examined in search of early modern (and English) marginalia was a translation of Cicero’s Of Olde Age. This initial analysis is a basic one; given the nature of this research and necessity of a preliminary review of primary texts to determine a subject group to focus on, this analysis is a minimal one of first impressions when interacting with this text. Although I intend to look at this text further, I have not begun any attempt of interpretation; this summary will aid as an overview and introductory visual analysis.

A handwritten inscription at the beginning of the volume identifies the work as Cicero’s De Senectute [Of Old Age] with an addition of Cicero’s De Amicitia [On Friendship], translated from French and printed by Wiliam Caxton in 1481.

Pages proceeding this inscription and the exceptional preservation of this tome are necessary to discuss. Although printed in 1481, these original pages (half sheet size) appear rebound in a red leather cover with gold gilding. The marbled end papers (popularized near the end of the early modern era, later then this 1481 date) and excellent condition of the leather exterior suggest that the work has been rebound.

Inside the front cover are 3 stickers that identify past owners, as well as a Newberry Library book plate present in most of the Special Collections holdings. One of these ex libris style plates features a family crest, motto, location of Osterley Park, and names “Victor Albert George Child Villiers, Earl of Jersey.” as a past owner. A smaller black and gold name sticker reads “Louis H. Silver” above this tag. In the upper left of the page a humble white sticker reads “Later Library of Hershel V. Jones”. Hershel V. Jones asserts his ownership on the subsequent page (which lays opposite to the identifying passage) in a pencil inscription which–although it will require another look to read the name and title clearly–restates an additional owner before Jones; “From the collection of … 1756” is legible. These pages include some interesting markings that may be an original price as well as a stray signature which will necessitate further research.

The book is printed in a black letter font with middle English spellings. Notes similar to modern page numbers appear in the top right hand corner of most of the right hand pages of some, but not all pages; if these are arbitrary markings or some code of order is not clear at a first look, as the numerals are not in numeric order.

The in text marginalia begins about one-sixth into the translation. These first marginal notes introduce one of the readers’ hands. From my initial observations of this work with a preliminary introduction to marginalia and paleography, the presence of two separate readers are present, and with some variations between ink and letter shape, some similar notations may in actuality be a third reader’s marginal notes. These first notes are written with contemporaneous middle English spellings and style. Nuances of letter formation and changes in ink color later on in the text present the possibility of distinct hands and requires further investigation.

While a distinction here may be shady, there is certainly another reader’s hand in notes that appear in a blocky, darker ink that complements the gothic font of the body of work. These annotations are written entirely in Latin and where the other reader notes are lengthier summary, lists, or reference, these are brief notations, often accompanied by marginal lines designating specific lines of text. This reader also uses a variety of symbols in the margins to note content, although the significance off these are not apparent at first glance.

An interesting feature at the close of this volume appears on the last original page. Remnants of ink on a page that would have at one time faced this page remains in shadowy traces of what seem to be a tally or alphabet of some sort.

The initial examination of this volume was exciting and a very valuable introduction into exploring the world of marginalia. My next approach to this volume will inevitably include a refined research interest and cues of what aspects of marginalia are present in the text. To continue examining this work will be dependent on a brief crash course in early modern paleography, common reader’s symbols, and of course, a magnifying glass.

[accompanying images pending, as they are being problematic in loading at this time]

Reading Between the Lines and the Pursuit of a Research Question

As a student of medieval and early modern literature, history, and art history, I am a big proponent for examining things from an interdisciplinary lens. One of the ideas for research to pursue that came along with me to the Newberry was investigating marginalia, a term which encompasses reader’s notes, inscriptions, and frankly, doodles left by historic readers. A professor at Cornell suggested that I look into the topic with my varying interests in historic book culture and I can’t say that I’m disappointed. Particularly within the framework of this seminar and the many variations of meaning and constructs of ‘place’, I find myself intrigued considering the place of a reader and how interactions with texts have evolved or–possibly more surprisingly–maintained through the ages. It is interesting to consider the mind behind the mark on the page and think of what hands held that book before you.

And with this broad idea in mind, I have begun an adventure of reading between the lines in the most literal sense. Over the last few weeks I have paged through secondary source books on aspects of marginalia already published by scholars to ground myself with some knowledge of where to start in finding, identifying, and placing meaning on marginalia. Some of these books contain chapters of significance to me while others seem informative from front to back. After taking some time to peruse these texts, I’ve felt equipped enough to begin to explore primary sources and at least identify what materials to revisit more specifically later (much like the entire secondary books I’ve set aside to read in entirety over the next few weeks).

Figuring out how to search for primary sources and weeding through the numerous titles has been a challenge. Luckily, I picked up cues from materials and case studies of how scholars have found texts with marginal additions in their own work, gained some suggestions of how to search from some Newberry librarians, and within these parameters, currently have a list of around 30 primary texts at the Newberry with holding note that points towards some form of inscription or marginalia. With the immensity of the Newberry’s Special Collections and with my own interests, I have set some frankly arbitrary parameters to begin with as I have narrowed my search to texts in English pre-1700; while most of the texts I intend to focus on will be early modern works, I have yet to establish any ‘earliest’ date.

Some unexpected things have already cropped up as I’ve reviewed secondary material and paged 6 primary sources. I wasn’t aware of how much printed marginalia was present in the early modern period and have yet to decide if that will impact the course of materials I examine or not. While I am interested in examining the early modern reader, the place of the printer is always close at hand. Speaking of hands! One of the symbols of marginalia that I find interesting is the manicule, or the small, pointing hand that while originally a part of handwritten reader’s notes, became an installment in the realm of printed notes as well.

It also did not hit me that a note on a holding that would suggest some marginalia is present doesn’t clue a researcher in to what they may find when they page that text. So far I have looked at 6 primary sources that fall within the established parameters, 4 of which I will definitely take a closer look at later on. I will have a post shortly (either later today or tomorrow) about one of these sources, but as this update has gone rambling, I’ll wrap it up.

Top three exciting things at this point:

• coming across  manicules (drawn hands) in one of the primary sources [from 1559]
• finding texts that have reader’s notes from multiple hands; one [from 1481] seems to have extensive notes from at least 2 distinct readers and another [from 1561] with 2 readers and with the select notes and style of one hand, may be from a woman reader (as suggested by a secondary source I’ve looked at)
• a chronicle of England from 1482 has multiple reader’s hands, as well as doodles that seem to be from a young scholar which include horses, faces, and some phalluses (phalli?)

As I work towards developing a real research question, I am excited by what I am learning and what is available to explore here at the Newberry.

On Late Night Breakfast and deadlines.

Back at Cornell today, finals would be over and the first block break of the year would be under way. As a product of the Block Plan, it seems that the schedule and stress levels I’m so used to on campus don’t fade when away from campus, particularly when you’re immersed in a daunting scholarship application. So naturally, as all Cornellians know, sometimes the only answer is Late Night Breakfast. Late Night Breakfast is a Cornell staple on the eve of finals to take a bit to relax, refocus, and buckle down after well…copious amounts of breakfast food. It may not have been free, but Tuesday night called for an homage to Late Night Breakfast and I was glad to have a fantastic and supportive roommate willing to tag along for both breakfast and a much needed ‘Conniption Walk’ earlier in the evening. Over blueberry pancakes and an orange juice, at least a bit of stress began to fade away and after a bit of that break on Tuesday night, it’s time for an update.

The seminar has been fantastic, if you can’t tell from my level of excitement and numerous posts on class discussion. Everyday I feel compelled and challenged to be immersed in such an interesting group of fellow students and to be learning from two phenomenal professors. But I could rave about that for days–as I’ve already done and will continue to do.

Beyond class time, reading materials for the next day, and the other facts of life like making food and sleeping, I’ve stayed busy. Over the last few days I’ve been splitting my attention between class, research, and a post grad scholarship deadline looming closer and closer. As excited as I am for the opportunity I’m applying for–the Mitchell Scholarship, a program providing funding for a one year post graduate program in Ireland–it has been hard to focus and buckle down to actually accomplish anything further for the application. With the frustration of PDFs being temperamental, the fear of hearing nothing back from letters of recommendation despite persistent but polite (I hope!) reminders, and the terrifying reality of personal statement writer’s block, I’ve come to a point of….well…at least acceptance that I can only do so much at a time. I have yet to get my personal statement done and have plans of a showdown with that on Friday morning, most likely over a chai tea. The final deadline for my application is next week but with the confusion of conversion to British time, I have set a deadline for myself a few days earlier.

I met with the Conservation Lab yesterday afternoon and will begin work next Wednesday. They seemed like really interesting people and I am so excited to get going on some conservation projects and to try something new. Stay tuned for an update on my project and how things are progressing. And as a bit of a teaser: yes, there are early modern doodles and yes, some of them are of penises.

thoughts after a hard–but important–day.

Today has been a long day, but an important one.

This morning’s discussion continued to hit hard on race, Du Bois’s The Souls of Black Folk, and a particularly American (or as we refer to in class, US-ian) historical past. Our conversation continued on about race, slavery, perceptions, and narratives that for the most part, are embellished, silent, or lost completely. With purpose and frankly, necessity, we sat in silence as a slideshow of postcards of lynchings played on the projector. The images ranged in times and place of uncomfortable proximity–and how sad is it that that’s justifiable in instances: “not my time, not my place, not my problem” comes to mind. There were images from Minnesota and images from the 1960s; spectators in the frame turned around to face the camera in many photos–some smiled; there were women and children in the crowd. As much as any of us may attempt to distance ourselves from this terrifying legacy of torture, intimidation tactics, and atrocities in this nation’s past, this is relevant–it is our problem. While my American history education had familiarized me with the term of lynching and conjured a concept of terror and pain, no summary or gloss of that brand of historicizing instilled the deep horror and consternation that hits with these images. A distance was always present in my learning of race issues and the history of the Civil War, reconstruction, even the civil rights movement; I was being taught in rural Wisconsin–all of these atrocities were not only of the past, but not of the North and certainly not the Midwest. “It wasn’t just rednecks” Marcy pointed out in class; ‘respectable’ professions and ‘good’ people were among those crowds of spectators–people that were they among our acquaintance, we’d call family friends and in actuality, we call ancestors.

Something terrifying in itself to consider is that these photos are not crime scene photos; they are mementos–postcards and snapshots of a spectacle and tradition. One of the photos includes locks of a victim’s hair as a memento, a practice of commodicizing a lynching. The presence of children in these images is unsettling and as a seminar, we discussed that the presence of children hails a sense of ethics and values and cultural ‘stimulation’; children are included in aspects of the adult sphere to learn the ethics, traditions, and acceptability of their community.

These images are hard to cope with, but I realize that the mix of sadness, anger, and hurt that I feel tonight after seeing these images is a minuscule fraction of the immense pain and scarring that racial inequality and atrocities of a not so distant past have left on this nation and so many lives and that these wounds run deep and are still in danger of infection today.

How To Get Away With Vague Language: Problematic Language & How We Talk About Race

Before our seminar dove into discussing W.E.B. Du Bois’s The Souls of Black Folk and race as a factor in social place, Marcy (our professor leading the discussion this morning) pointed out that contrary to any of the “correct” French pronunciation that some of us may have assumed for Du Bois (think “bwa”), his family did in fact pronounce it as “Du Boys”. In retrospect considering the way that our conversation in class and my thoughts on the topic evolved, this clarification is of greater significance then at first, one would think.

Based around the opening of this book was the question of “how does it feel to be a problem”–a question Du Bois was posed with as a black author in the early 20th century and one that resonates yet today in 2015. Our class diluted quickly what the real problem was–“The Black Problem”. As soon as this conversation began, it was obvious that a major problem existed in our own classroom and although it would be addressed, would not nearly be ‘fixed’ within the next two hours; this problem was how to talk about race. With purpose–and importantly so–Marcy would push for clarification when collective and ambiguous language like “we”, “they”, “it” were used. Language, it seems, even in a room of ‘progressive’, thoughtful, and well educated young scholars is a privilege often taken for granted. We (see, there I go!)–as a class, we needed  to be pushed to stand behind word choices and go beyond inference and assuming that the experiences and backgrounds of our own education and background discussing race (or even our own race) were that of everyone else in the room.

Du Bois’s writing is deliberate in this book; his language, while beautiful and lyric in many passages, are words with power, meaning, and significance. Have we lost a general understanding and respect of the power of words? Respect came up a lot in this discussion of race and as something that is necessary in overcoming the color line that Du Bois discusses between races–a line that remains burned into this country’s history and is still just as unforgiving today.

In modern race activism, the problem seems to be that of the white ally, as contradictory as that may seem to some. Du Bois discusses the hesitation (rightfully so) of trusting white “friends” post-war, something that resonated in his writing in 1903 and currently. When put to the question of what needs to occur to ease the ‘color line’, I remarked that white allies need to be cognizant of how to be an ally– to admit our own ignorance and that we have not had the experience with race and racism, and simply–to listen. To be an ally is an important and powerful thing, but it’s not about white activists organizing and leading a march against injustice, but listening and being cognizant of how to be a true ally and admit that sometimes, trying to help can be more of a problem.

Last night Viola Davis won an Emmy as best actress in a TV drama for her outstanding role on How To Get Away With Murder. If you haven’t watched her speech yet, you need to. A pivotal line is her closing of “You cannot win an Emmy for roles that are simply not there”–Davis joins the dialogue of Du Bois 112 years later on the absence of opportunity for the black American population. It’s striking to consider if being PC is more important then being a POC and while I’d like to be optimistic, I don’t know if realistically, things will change any time soon. As I write this, I make no claims of being any authority or having any answer of how to address the modern world’s Race Issue, but in admitting my own ignorance, I’m ready to listen.

thunderstorms and stormy thoughts.

Somehow, it seems that today had to end with a storm and for those who don’t know, I love a good thunderstorm. I love to sit and watch a storm roll in, feel the rain spattering, and hear the thunder rumble. Storms give off such an energy–even as I lie awake after the first rumbles of this storm’s crescendo, I don’t feel tired as I did earlier after a long day, I feel recharged. And this meteorological event is fitting as pastoralism and related canons of nature perceptions in literature have been the topic of the last few days and a theme to ponder in an Art Institute excursion.
I have so many thoughts on literature of the wild that I’ve been putting off a post about it as I know there is no way I can reconcile all the thoughts I’ve had on this the last few days. But, it’s the middle of the night, there’s a storm: there’s no better time to try.
In the recent theme of perceptions of nature echoing through class, I’ve been thinking a lot about the new urban wilderness I find myself in of which the bearings are still settling in and that last year at this time, I was immersed in a very different wilderness with a literature course in the Boundary Waters of Minnesota (one of my favorite places in the world). As one of my favorite classes and a crazy experience for unscheduled reasons, the most out of place I felt in the field station was in the petty and dramatic community that quickly developed between the majority of my classmates when thrown into the unknown; the quiet and immensity of the wilderness at my fingertips was true solace.
At the end of class yesterday, the idea of isolation, loneliness, and beauty of companions and the wild were brought up, and as my mind wanders there, so does this post. I feel fortunate to have in my life people who–beyond being amazing–are people that understand the visceral awe of watching a thunderstorm roll in or evening mist crawl over a glossy lake. One of my best friends was in that wilderness literature class and not exaggerating, we both know that without each other neither of us would have made it through those two weeks surrounded by a toxic (and all together strange) social dynamic–at least without hitting someone in the face with a paddle. To have friends who not only tolerate, but join my excitement when I see an old tree is something that I appreciate and as I walk around the city, I miss turning to them and pointing and saying “look–moss!”.
Sleepiness has set in and this post could go on forever, so I’ll wrap this up and maybe this weekend write a more analytical post on this. As I’ve typed, it’s been interesting to see highrises around me come in and out of view depending on how hard the rain falls. My mind is wandering through a boreal forest and missing dear friends as well as a dear and ridiculously annotated copy of Thoreau at home. To close, here is The Storm (Georges Michel) that I breezed past at the Art Institute this morning. It seems like a fitting way to end a day filled with power and beauty that a storm would assert itself as a force to be reckoned with.