|
|
|
My students are roaming, looking for the color yellow and thinking of spring. They are drawing Christmas ferns unrolling, the young shoots of dog hobble, honeysuckles, infant leaves, mountain laurel. I have found a dry log on the high bluff along Lawson's Fork and I am thinking of miracles, and of today, and the moment, this moment with wind blowing gently upstream and a lawnmower droning and some kind of big, ungainly black fly landing near old acorns. What a serene morning it is, next to the turgid creek, and only its orange burden of broken feldspar reminds me of the work to be done. Today we do not have to think of work, only of each other and the pleasure we are somehow able to impart. |
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
When I see you my heart tightens inside its sheath. Oh to be alive when the air is drifting with cottonwood fluff and the acorn cups are upturned. Two young girls in the class come strolling though the forest, not trying to be quiet. One is wearing overalls and the other jeans and they are trying to remember a line of poetry a butterfly sprang from them. From what heaven did you fall? When our lives are done, our bodies heavy with the sights we have seen, and full from love, having been constantly replenished at the lips and with the eyes, I would go readily to that heaven, to mete with joy these gifts surprised on me. There is no end to the majesty of this world, and everything has your name on it. |
|
|
|
|
|
