ANEW FRIEND REMINDED ME THAT EMILY DICKINSON lived “right at the intersection of solitude, poetry, and gardening,” a place that sounds like a happy home to me at this life phase.
So before April, which is National Poetry Month, slips away, why don’t we celebrate with poems, a book giveaway, and a look at the incredible herbarium, or volume of pressed plant specimens like the one at left, that Dickinson compiled as a teenager? It’s all right here.
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