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.
Beautiful. Such clarity! And such space, says the city boy.
ReplyDeleteThank you! It was the most unusual weather I've ever encounter on Christmas Eve Eve.
Delete