Life on a family farm
in the wilds of
Upstate New York
Wednesday, February 20, 2019
In Summertime
I sit becalmed in trackless heat and rude humidity.... and dream of.... ........anything but winter.. Anything at all...
In summer I allow no thoughts of winter to intrude. It is as if six months or even eight vanish into a magician's cabinet never to emerge on the stage in my mind. Looking out on sun baked green I hold at bay all thoughts of wide, white wilderness where nothing walks but the ice cold wind.
It is just as well to do the same for summer in winter, though harder. Imagining green only leads to wistfulness... However, along about February, when it ought to be spring but isn't, damn the torpedoes, here's some summer.
This line resonates so well: "Looking out on sun baked green I hold at bay all thoughts of wide, white wilderness where nothing walks but the ice cold wind."
5 comments:
Now this, my friend - is poetry.
This line resonates so well:
"Looking out on sun baked green I hold at bay all thoughts of wide, white wilderness where nothing walks but the ice cold wind."
Love it. Love you. Mom
OH! HOW I FEEL THE SAME WAY!
I'm posting this to my FB page!
Cathy, kind words indeed coming from a poet like yourself! Thanks
Mom, thanks, love you too
Linda, thanks
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