This is an old image, from 2004, and I never posted it because I never liked it, too deformed. My crooked eye saw a clover field in the night, and a big caterpillar. But the image survived the time, and survived... Until the last days while reading Dickinson, some of those elements I supposedly saw: the field, the clover, plus the caterpillar in the image like a pain residing; went in contact with the apparent humility of this particular poem; then the humble image found its moment, and I just choose to post it, at least to show a poem that is genial.
It's All I have to bring to-day,
This, and my heart beside,
This, and my heart, and all the fields,
And all the meadows wide.
Be sure you count, should I forget, —
Some one the sum could tell, —
This, and my heart, and all the bees
Which in the clover dwell.
Emily Dickinson, named after the first line.
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