on the surface

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Light plays on the
dark surface of the lake. Each afternoon
your shadow walks beside you on the wall,
and the days stay long and heavy underneath
the distant rumor of the harvest. One
more summer gone…”

 

~ Dana Gioia

 

 

 

 

 

 

this place, this hour

 

 

 

 

 

“Happiness, not in another place but this place…not for another hour, but this hour.”

 

~ Walt Whitman

 

 

 

 

 

 

golden hour of the clock of the year

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and now it’s October
the golden hour of the clock of the year. Everything that can run
to fruit has already done so: round apples, oval plums, bottom-heavy
pears, black walnuts and hickory nuts annealed in their shells,
the woodchuck with his overcoat of fat. Flowers that were once bright
as a box of crayons are now seed heads and thistle down. All the feathery
grasses shine in the slanted light. It’s time to bring in the lawn chairs
and wind chimes, time to draw the drapes against the wind, time to hunker
down. Summer’s fruits are preserved in syrup, but nothing can stopper time.
No way to seal it in wax or amber; it slides though our hands like a rope
of silk. At night, the moon’s restless searchlight sweeps across the sky.

 

~ Barbara Crooker

 

 

 

 

 

 

out to pasture

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

metaphor

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Let the labyrinth of wrinkles be furrowed in my brow with the red-hot iron of my own life, let my hair whiten and my step become vacillating, on condition that I can save the intelligence of my soul – let my unformed childhood soul, as it ages, assume the rational and esthetic forms of an architecture, let me learn just everything that others cannot teach me, what only life would be capable of marking deeply in my skin!”

 

Salvador Dalí