Rebecca's Reading Room

Rebecca Budd
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Welcome to my Reading Room where stories dwell and words ignite our imagination. Rebecca’s Reading room is a virtual space that has been set aside for reading and reflection. It is a place where stories and poetry are given voice. I am your host, Rebecca Budd. I look forward to sharing these moments with you

  1. MAR 12

    A Garden Meditation - Dr. Sun Yat-Sen Classical Chinese Garden

    S6 E5 A Garden Meditation - Dr. Sun Yat-Sen Classical Chinese Garden Welcome to this quiet reflection. Today’s meditation comes from the Dr. Sun Yat-Sen Classical Chinese Garden, a place where architecture, water, and stone come together to create a space of stillness in the middle of the city. The images and sounds you will experience invite us to slow down, to notice, and to remember that calm attention is something we can cultivate each day. Find a comfortable place to sit or simply listen as you are. Let the music and the garden guide the pace. Rebecca Music by Epidemic Sound “Angelica” by David Edward https://www.epidemicsound.com/music/tracks/0b2602e3-79cd-4080-9121-13185a8a0123/ Photography by Rebecca Budd

    5 min

  2. MAR 5

    Dear March - Come In by Emily Dickinson

    S6 E4: Dear March - Come In by Emily Dickinson March brings balance. It strips judgement of its urgency. Once this guest has arrived, trifles fall away. What matters is presence, not verdict. “Dear March—Come in—” reminds us that some moments should not be rushed or improved upon. Some seasons are meant to be welcomed, sat with, listened to. March is not yet bloom, not yet abundance—but it is essential. Without it, nothing else follows. March has come in. The door is closed to haste. And upstairs, there is still so much to tell. Dear March—Come in— How glad I am— I hoped for you before— Put down your Hat— You must have walked— How out of Breath you are— Dear March, how are you, and the Rest— Did you leave Nature well— Oh March, Come right upstairs with me— I have so much to tell— I got your Letter, and the Birds— The Maples never knew that you were coming— I declare - how Red their Faces grew— But March, forgive me— And all those Hills you left for me to Hue— There was no Purple suitable— You took it all with you— Who knocks? That April— Lock the Door— I will not be pursued— He stayed away a Year to call When I am occupied— But trifles look so trivial As soon as you have come That blame is just as dear as Praise And Praise as mere as Blame— Photography & Recitation by Rebecca Budd Location: North Vancouver. Music by Johannes Bornlöf “Serene” Epidemic Sound https://www.epidemicsound.com/tr...

    3 min

  3. FEB 4

    Where Stories Sit Beside Us

    S6 E3: Where Stories Sit Beside Us Welcome. I’m so glad you’ve found your way here. Rebecca’s Reading Room is a place for readers who don’t just read books, but take them somewhere. Into parks. On to benches. Beneath trees. Into moments where the world softens and the page begins to breathe alongside us. A few years ago, I was sitting in a park with a book in my hands, the kind of book that announces itself by weight alone. Thick pages. A scent that only time can give. The sort of book that has been held, opened, and loved long before it ever reached you. I was reading The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood. And beside me stood a tree that felt, for that hour, like part of the story itself. Not scenery, but companion. The kind of place where reading doesn’t feel separate from living, but stitched into it. Some of us have special reading places. We return to them. Or we carry them with us. And over time, the book and the setting become inseparable — the story remembered not just by plot, but by light, air, birdsong, and stillness. Today, I’d like to share a moment from that world — from young Robin Hood, from the shooting match, from a story that has travelled centuries to find a quiet afternoon under a tree. And this is what Rebecca’s Reading Room is all about. It’s about taking books out into the world with us. Letting stories sit beside us. Allowing pages to mingle with place, memory, and time. Here, reading isn’t rushed. It isn’t measured or counted. It’s lived. I’m so glad you’re here, and I warmly welcome you to a new season of reading and exploring. Where old books still speak, and quiet moments still matter. Rebecca Music by Epidemic Sound ”Forest Myths” by Deskant https://www.epidemicsound.com/music/tracks/4923db4d-b268-369e-87f8-f60bce040a45/

    4 min

  4. JAN 26

    Celebrating Robert Burns

    S6 E2: Celebrating Robert Burns Every January 25, Burns suppers are held all over the world—around kitchen tables, in community halls, and wherever people gather to honour words that have endured. Today, we’re celebrating Robert Burns, affectionately known as Rabbie Burns—the great Scottish poet and lyricist. Burns has been given many honourary titles over the years: the Bard of Scotland, the Ploughman Poet, a voice of the people. He wrote in the language he lived in—sometimes Scots, sometimes English—always with heart, wit, and deep humanity. Burns suppers have long been a tradition in Scotland and far beyond its borders. And no Burns supper is ever complete without hearing the traditional “Address to a Haggis.” A few years ago, I created a podcast to honour this tradition, and it has become something I return to each year—because some words deserve to be spoken aloud, again and again. I’ve asked my son, Thomas, to recite those famous words for us—spoken with affection, respect, and a sense of continuity. This is not just a performance, but a passing on of tradition: from voice to voice, from one generation to the next. So wherever you are listening from, I invite you to pause, lean in, and join us in this small act of remembrance and celebration. Rebecca Photography Rebecca Budd Poetry Recitation by Thomas Budd Music by Epidemic Sound Megan Wolford “Auld Lang Syne” (Piano Version) https://www.epidemicsound.com/music/tracks/a84e66ca-bf57-40e9-91fe-c8ab3d7ca608/ Location: Burns Cottage and Burns Monument and Memorial Gardens, Ayrshire, Scotland

    5 min

  5. JAN 7

    A Long, Long Sleep, A Famous Sleep by Emily Dickinson

    S6 E1:A Long, Long Sleep, A Famous Sleep by Emily Dickinson (Poem 582) A long, long sleep, a famous sleepThat makes no show for dawnBy stretch of limb or stir of lid,—An independent one. Was ever idleness like this?Within a hut of stoneTo bask the centuries awayNor once look up for noon? There is something both eerie and tender in these eight lines. Emily Dickinson’s poem opens with the rhythm of rest—a “famous sleep” that suggests death, not as an end but as an enduring state of being. The “independent one” is beyond the cycles of morning and noon, detached from time, yet curiously alive in our imagination. Death here is not portrayed as tragic; rather, it is stillness without suffering, idleness without regret. The “hut of stone” reminds us of the grave, but also of solitude—a sanctuary from motion and measure. Dickinson transforms what might seem a bleak image into an act of cosmic repose. When I read these words aloud, I felt a kind of reverent hush. There is no fear in this poem, only acceptance—a surrender to what lies beyond waking. It reminds me how rarely we allow ourselves to be still, to imagine existence without striving or movement. Dickinson’s voice whispers across the centuries, asking us to consider that eternity might not be loud or radiant, but quietly restful. Perhaps that is the deeper invitation of this poem: to recognize that rest itself—the long, long sleep—is not an absence of life, but a continuation of being in another form. My Takeaway: As I recited this poem, I was struck by how Dickinson frames death not as darkness, but as independence—a release from the tyranny of time. The line “To bask the centuries away” lingers with me, an image of peaceful endurance. It made me wonder: if we could “bask” within the moments of our lives, instead of rushing through them, might we glimpse a little eternity even now? Thank you for joining me in the Poetry Salon.  Until the next poem unfolds, Rebecca Video: Eivindvik, Norway (R. Budd Photo Archives) Music by Epidemic Sound Psalm by Anders Schiller Paulsen https://www.epidemicsound.com/music/tracks/1f1d94e9-5fc4-477c-a3c4-156df67d4c9a/

    4 min

  6. 12/01/2025

    The Elephant Child by D. Wallace Peach

    S5 E18: The Elephant Child by D. Wallace Peach © An elephant child, carefree and wild Walked into the wintry woods He followed fox tails and jackrabbit trails Ignoring his mother’s “shoulds” Of course, he got lost and chilled by the frost As night began to fall To his rump he sunk and tooted his trunk But no one answered his call Oh, that cold night, to the elephant fright The clouds began to snow He sniffled and shivered, shook and quivered His nose he needed to blow The blizzard swirled and snowflakes twirled He plodded on wobbly knees His head grew stuffy, the snow so fluffy He blew out a honking sneeze Losing hope, he started to mope When in an evergreen tree He spied a house, just right for a mouse And he let go a trumpet of glee Alas the place hadn’t the space To fit an elephant’s bulk The lost little guy plunked down for a cry His head hung low in a sulk The house was quite nice, chock full of mice Who whispered quiet and low What was that? Did you hear a cat? Lurking out in the snow? Across the wood floor, they dashed to the door Flicked on the outside light In a rodent flurry, they squeaked and scurried An elephant! What a sight! Let’s offer a seat for a tea and a treat Said a mouse who felt overly bold I think he is lost so covered in frost And surely his ears are cold. Full of care and courage to spare They crawled out on a limb They slipped on the ice those brave little mice And their mission turned quite grim But they held on tight with all their might And called to the elephant Come in from the storm, come in and get warm But the elephant said I can’t! Though I’m only four, I’ll bust the door I’ll break the branch from the tree I’ll crack your stairs and squash your chairs I’m far too heavy, you see. You have to try, hurry in and dry Get up! Please give it a go! The elephant groaned, he mumbled and moaned Though he longed to get out of the snow. With strength galore, he pushed on the door The tree branch started to bend The home nearly fell, and the mice had to yell Please stop, or we’re end-over-end! The elephant frowned as the flakes tumbled down His trunk a bright shade of blue Oh, what a glitch, mice-whiskers did twitch. What were the rodents to do? Now, due to their size, mice aren’t very wise Their brains are as tiny as seeds They may not be smart, but they have lots of heart And sometimes that’s all that you need. They sketched out a plan as only mice can And piled his back with sweaters And blankets and sheets, and curtains with pleats Tiny coats of wool and black leather With the elephant warm, and safe from all harm They dialed their old-fashioned phone We’re seeking his mother, a father or brother! This elephant’s all alone! Well what do you know, because of the snow His parents were suffering fits They dashed to him fast and hugged him at last And stayed for some tea and biscuits. Thus ends the plight of the elephant’s night Be careful when out in the woods You might meet some mice who are caring and nice But just in case… Remember your mother’s shoulds Poem by D. Wallace Peach Recitation by D. Wallace Peach Photography by Rebecca Budd Music by Howard Harper-Barnes “A Leaf Falls” #EpidemicSound https://www.epidemicso...

    5 min

  7. 11/04/2025

    October by Robert Frost

    S5 E17 October By Robert Frost O hushed October morning mild,Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,Should waste them all.The crows above the forest call;Tomorrow they may form and go.O hushed October morning mild,Begin the hours of this day slow.Make the day seem to us less brief.Hearts not averse to being beguiled,Beguile us in the way you know.Release one leaf at break of day;At noon release another leaf;One from our trees, one far away.Retard the sun with gentle mist;Enchant the land with amethyst.Slow, slow!For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—For the grapes’ sake along the wall. October: A Celebration of Quiet Resilience When I first recited “October” in 2020, the world was standing still. Streets were empty, gatherings were postponed, and even the air seemed to hesitate. Yet in that pause, poetry found its voice again. Frost’s gentle invocation to ‘retard the sun with gentle mist’ became a kind of prayer. Not for escape, but for endurance. Resilience does not always roar. Sometimes, it whispers ‘slow, slow.’ It asks us to hold on just a little longer, to find beauty even in uncertainty. In Frost’s world, the falling of each leaf is not a loss but part of the rhythm of survival. Each pause, each delay, each quiet act of attention becomes an affirmation that life continues in tender, imperfect, and enduring ways. Looking back now, “October” reminds me how we learned to adapt: to find comfort in small rituals, to connect through words when touch was forbidden, and to let art and poetry become our gathering places. The mist that Frost imagined became, for us, a shelter with a soft veil through which we could still see light. So today, as leaves again turn to gold and wind stirs through the trees, I read “October” not as a farewell, but as a renewal. It is a reminder that even in seasons of loss, resilience grows quietly, leaf by leaf, word by word, morning by morning. Until the next page turns, Rebecca Music by Epidemic Sound Snow In June by Martin Landh https://www.epidemicsound.com/music/tracks/6a1b6e6b-a192-3195-9c4b-fa9f1e322cdd/

    3 min

  8. 10/31/2025

    Celebrating Halloween with Carl Sandburg

    S5 EX: Celebrating Halloween with Carl Sandburg Happy Halloween! Why do we love Halloween? Maybe it’s the thrill of shadows, the whispered stories of ghosts and goblins, or the sheer joy of transforming the ordinary into the extraordinary with costumes, pumpkins, and flickering candles. Halloween is a night where imagination takes the lead — where even the wind seems to carry secrets. Tonight, I’m celebrating Halloween with Carl Sandburg, who had a gift for finding poetry in the everyday. His short poem, Theme in Yellow, doesn’t dwell on fright or fear. Instead, he turns to the pumpkin — that bright, round companion of autumn — and gives it a mischievous voice. The jack-o’-lantern smiles with a glow that is equal parts harvest warmth and playful trickery. Sandburg’s images — yellow balls on the hills, orange and tawny gold in the cornfields, the harvest moon rising — remind us that Halloween isn’t just about spooks and scares. It’s also about autumn’s abundance, the laughter of children, and the community that gathers around the simple magic of light in the dark. So when you see a pumpkin glowing on a porch tonight, think of Sandburg’s words, and know that you are part of a tradition that stretches across fields, front steps, and generations Theme in Yellowby Carl Sandburg  I spot the hillsWith yellow balls in autumn.I light the prairie cornfieldsOrange and tawny gold clustersAnd I am called pumpkins.On the last of OctoberWhen dusk is fallenChildren join handsAnd circle round meSinging ghost songsAnd love to the harvest moon;I am a jack-o’-lanternWith terrible teethAnd the children knowI am fooling. As October draws to a close, I am reminded that Halloween is more than a night of costumes and candy. It is a pause at the threshold between seasons — a moment when the glow of a pumpkin lantern can carry us back to the wonder of childhood and forward into the quiet of November.  Carl Sandburg’s Theme in Yellow shows me that even in the simplest of images — a smiling jack-o’-lantern, a harvest moon — there is both playfulness and grace. This Halloween, I celebrate not only the mysteries of the night, but also the gift of imagination that lets us find light, even in the gathering dark. Thank you for joining me in celebrating Halloween with Carl Sandburg. Until next time we meet, keep reading and reciting poetry. Rebecca Photography and Poetry Recitation by Rebecca Budd Music by Epidemic Sound“Creepy Crawly” by Arthur Benson “Creepy Crawly” https://www.epidemicsound.com/track/h6bdDl6AwC/ Location Simon Fraser University, Burnaby Campus

    2 min
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Welcome to my Reading Room where stories dwell and words ignite our imagination. Rebecca’s Reading room is a virtual space that has been set aside for reading and reflection. It is a place where stories and poetry are given voice. I am your host, Rebecca Budd. I look forward to sharing these moments with you

Information

  • Creator
    Rebecca Budd
  • Years Active
    2021 - 2026
  • Episodes
    76
  • Rating
    Explicit
  • Copyright
    © Rebecca Budd
  • Show Website
    Rebecca's Reading Room