How long the winter has lasted—like a Mahler symphony, or an hour in the dentists chair. Todays poem from The Writers Almanac: Walking Alone in Late Winter by Jane Kenyon How long the winter has lasted—like a Mahler symphony, or an hour in the dentists chair. In the fields the grasses are matted and gray, making me think of June, when hay and vetch burgeon in the heat, and warm rain swells the globed buds of the peony. Ice on the pond breaks into huge planes. One sticks like a barge gone awry at the neck of the bridge....The reeds and shrubby brush along the shore gleam with ice that shatters when the breeze moves them. From beyond the bog the sound of water rushing over trees felled by the zealous beavers, who bring them crashing down.... Sometimes it seems they do it just for fun. Those days of anger and remorse come back to me; you fidgeting with your ring, sliding it off, then jabbing it on again. The wind is keen coming over the ice; it carries the sound of breaking glass. And the sun, bright but not warm, has gone behind the hill. Chill, or the fear of chill, sends me hurrying home. Walking Alone in Late Winter by Jane Kenyon from The Boat of Quiet Hours. © Graywolf Press, 1986.
Posted on: Tue, 11 Mar 2014 18:25:41 +0000
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