Opal Whiteley Quotes

When I grow up, I am going to write for children — and grownups that haven't grown up too much — all the earth-songs I now do hear.

Between the ranch-house and the house we live in is the singing creek where the willows grow. We have conversations. And there I do dabble my toes beside the willows. I feel the feels of gladness they do feel.

I wonder if honeysuckles grow about the gates of heaven. I’ve heard they are made of precious jewels. I have thinks there will be flowers growing all about. Probably God brought the seed from heaven when he did plant the flowers here on earth. Too, I do think when angels bring babies from heaven to folks that live here below, they do also bring seeds of flowers, and do scatter them about. I have thinks that they do this so the babies may hear the voices of the loving flowers, and grow in the way of God.

By the wood-shed is a brook. It goes singing on. Its joy-song does sing in my heart.

I had sees there was joy-lights in her eyes and the looks he looked at her was like the looks the young husband of Dear Love does look at her when he is come home from work.

He is a most strong man. He put his arms around the penseé girl and he most lifted her off the ground. He did take out a ring of gold and he did tell her it was his mother's wedding ring. A butterfly went by - it was a cream one with a nice ribbon at its wing edge and pinkish spots. He did kiss her again. They didn't see the green caterpillar having sleeps under the hazel leaf. And he did say, "I want you to have all the love in the world." And he kissed her again.

In Man's heart is a little room. He has named it Oblivion. And things are ranged along its walls That he does not wish To think about. Every time that he pushes something in there, He closes the door very tightly. But in hours when he is weary, In the hours that walk around some midnights, When high fires have burned To a low flicker, Then the little door swings on its hinges And no thing Will make it stay closed All of the time. When he is near death, All the velvet-footed wanderers in there Join the throng around his bed. "We will not die," they whisper To one another, While Beauty waits with drawn lips, And dry eyes. But there is heard The patter of a little sad rain In her heart's garden, Where some little flower buds That were once thinking of the sun Will never open, Because Man keeps a little room Of oblivion in his soul.

Most every day, I do dance. I dance with the leaves and the grass. I feel thrills from my toes to my curls. I feel like a bird, sometimes. Then I nod unto the willows, and they nod unto me. They wiggle their toes in the water a bit, and I do so, too. And every time we wiggle our toes, we do drink into our souls the song of the brook- the glad song it is always singing. And the joy-song does sing on in our hearts. Collected in: Sisters of the Earth: Women's Prose and Poetry About Nature by Lorraine Anderson