Simply Pure by Nature

Autumn 2021

By Aimee Flor
on September 01, 2021

Dear Friend,


Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For summer has o’er brimm’d their clammy cells.


Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,

Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.


Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, -

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

John Keats (1795-1821)


Jacob Fleeing from Laban

Filippo Lauri (1623-1694)


With love,

Aimee Flor

Summer 2021

By Aimee Flor
on June 01, 2021

Dear Friend,


Winter is cold-hearted,

Spring is yea and nay,

Autumn is a weathercock

Blown every way:

Summer days for me

When ever leaf is on its tree;


When Robin's not a beggar

And Jenny Wren's a bride,

And larks hand singing, singing, singing,

Over the wheat-fields wide,

And anchored lilies ride,

And the pendulum spider

Swings from side to side,


And blue-black beetles transact business,

And gnats fly in a host,

And furry caterpillars hasten

That no time be lost,

And mots grow fat and thrive,

And ladybirds arrive.


Before green apples blush,

Before green nuts embrown,

Why, one day in the country

Is worth a month in town;

Is worth a day and a year

Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion 

That days drone elsewhere.

Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)


Jacob Peeling the Rods

Jacob Peeling the Rods

Guido Cagnacci (1601-1663)


With love,

Aimee Flor

Spring 2021

By Aimee Flor
on March 01, 2021

Dear Friend,


The year's at the spring.

And day's at the morn;

Morning's at seven;

The hillside's dew-pearled;

The lark's on the wing;

The snail's on the thorn:

God's in His heaven-

All's right with the world!

Robert Browning (1812 - 1889)


Madonna and Child in a Landscape with Tobias and the Angel

Madonna and Child in a Landscape with Tobias and the Angel

Titian (1488 - 1576)


With Love,

Aimee Flor

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