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.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Lasts
This sunset, this last breath of summer, suggests,
surely there comes a wisdom in learning goodbye . . .
This makes me think of Mary Oliver's poem on a box full of darkness . . . "this, too, is a gift."
ReplyDeleteMary Oliver has become one of my favorite poets. I will be thinking on this concept for a while.
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