In which we find Bec, seized by an un-poetic and unforgiving mood, interrogating a Ralph Waldo Emerson poem, because the sages say boredom is its own excuse for being. The Rhodora In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, Evocative, but is starting with weather clichéd scene setting? I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, That's nice, but who … Continue reading Demolishing a Rhodora