Thank you, Jane, for your guidance on this wonderful, November journey. And now, for the thirtieth…   via Pinterest.com   “And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,” —W.B. Yeats     Bloodsword Sunset   The first chill is in the air. The last withered leaves scatter in a passing Autumn…

  ingawh [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons   ‘Why, what could she have done, being what she is? Was there another Troy for her to burn?’—W.B. Yeats   Blood sunset our mad general pursues her across this land so we bleed so far from home for these empty vanities   for Jane Dougherty’s A…

 By Stephen Reid (Eleanor Hull, The Boys’ Cuchulain) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons   ‘I would that the Boar without bristles had come from the West And had rooted the sun and moon and stars out of the sky’ —W.B. Yeats   crows’ flight tied to my post, waiting for my enemies denying the Morrigu…

 By Bishalniraula (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons   ‘Once more the storm is howling, and half hid Under this cradle-hood and coverlid My child sleeps on.’ —W.B. Yeats   fresh snowfall our slow drive home carrying our newborn son warmly wrapped in your blankets how you slept the whole way home…

Daniel Ramirez, Honolulu, Hawaii via Wikimedia commons ‘I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea!’ W.B. Yeats ocean sunrise Your hand in mine as we watch the surf crash in our moment together fleeting as a gull’s cry for Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats: Day Twenty-six

 By Underwood & Underwood — Publisher [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons   ‘And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout.’—W.B. Yeats   flying white moths another starry night without that wandering girl who caught me when…

By Miller, James Martin & H.S. Canfield. [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons ‘We know their dream; enough To know they dreamed and are dead; ‘ —W.B. Yeats ‘   Smoke in the sky After the last echoes of gunshots and screams only their bloodstains and memories remain   for Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats:…