Marie at Cepaphil - Vintage Postcards hosts this meme that I love. Today she has a postcard celebrating Oktoberfest!
I have two postcards below to show you. I visited Walt Whiteman's Birthplace a few days ago (you might have seen on my other blogs some of my photos). These are two postcards available at the gift shop.
The top one is the young Walt and the bottom one is his birthplace in which he lived until 4 years of age. He was raised in Brooklyn and after serving in the Civil War he went to live in Camden New Jersey.
Leaves of Grass is his very well-known work of poetry.
I posted "Miracles" a wonderful poem by Walt that I used to read out loud to my high all-girl classes way back when. I'm sure you'll enjoy it!
Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night
with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.
To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.
To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the
ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?