And again in the 10th, studying Lamartine.

Shakespeare is a poet too. The critical analyses of his works rise to the level of art themselves.

Every time we reference a work of literature, or any art, we do a critical analysis on the fly, because we use the art as a metaphor to make or support our point.

But I noted what I was linking to in case someone out there was not interested in criticism, so you could revel in the pure experience if you wanted to.

The fun part about criticism is that it's not in black and white, but in color. If you accept one interpretation, that doesn't exclude you from being able to enjoy and accept -- or reject -- the rest. The hues and values are myriad.

Have you ever found new meaning in your own writing that you hadn't seen before?

Yes! The unconscious sometimes says things that you can only appreciate later. Sometimes years later.

And yes, I enjoyed my walk, thank you. I listened to the little birdies. My mind critically analyzed their calls. They were, all at once, harbingers of Spring, sexual competitors, the echo of the dinosaurs, and trills of such beauty that they put the finest orchestra to shame in their artlessness. They sang the music of Eden. And they reminded me of a harpsichord piece on an ancient vinyl recording given to me by my grandfather, so he was there too.

Do you find beauty in the stars enhanced by thinking about how they work? So it is also with poetry, which frees the little voiceless heart of magic in the unconscious mind.

Or not. Your choice. ;)

Be well, Rob--
Mary Anne