I'm A Writer First And A Woman

I Adore Life. What Do All The Fools Matter And All The Stupidity. They Do Matter But Somehow For Me They Cannot Touch The Body Of Life. Life Is Marvellous. I Want To Be Deeply Rooted In It - To Live - To Expand - To Breathe In It - To Rejoice - To Share It. To Give And To Be Asked For Love.

I Am Poor - Obscure - Just Eighteen Years Of Age - With A Rapacious Appetite For Everything And Principles As Light As My Purse.

Perhaps It Does Not Matter So Very Much What It Is One Loves In This World. But Love Something One Must.

The Fields Are Snowbound No Longer; There Are Little Blue Lakes And Flags Of Tenderest Green. The Snow Has Been Caught Up Into The Sky- So Many White Clouds-and The Blue Of The Sky Is Cold. Now The Sun Walks In The Forest, He Touches The Bows And Stems With His Golden Fingers; They Shiver, And Wake From Slumber. Over The Barren Branches He Shakes His Yellow Curls. Yet Is The Forest Full Of The Sound Of Tears.... A Wind Dances Over The Fields. Shrill And Clear The Sound Of Her Waking Laughter, Yet The Little Blue Lakes Tremble And The Flags Of Tenderest Green Bend And Quiver.

I Think I Hate Snow, Downright Hate It. There Is Something Stupefying In It, A Kind Of 'you Must Be Worse Before You're Better,' And Down It Spins.