Walk the rails under a high blue sky. Find the sag in the leaning fence, and step--carefully--over rusted wire. Follow a peninsula of blond grasses through a lake of loam, and come, at last, to the timber's edge where gray branches trace the sky and rose hips curl near purple canes.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
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Truth is a long and beautiful thing,
dripping glory of sun and water and dust . . .
a thunder battle, autumn sunset, morning dew
catastrophe--loud as a mouse in the walls.
These few lines fascinate!
ReplyDeleteThank you!
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