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rejectomorphI know I've long since jumped the shark with this whole weather obsession, but damn, the air's getting almost wintry here! I don't like wintry in November. I want autumn back!
The white moon looked nice rising above the nearly-bare trees tonight, though, and the red line of sunset at least looked warm even though the dusk was chilly.
In honor of vanished summer (and to remind me of how eager I was to leave it behind) here's an old favorite poem.
Sunday Verse
by Yvor Winters
The passions of
the race are now
embedded in
the air more
fearful in their
pride of silence
moving rapidly afar
as changes of
the hour or as a
month across the grass
now incest burns
the very shade
hate rains about me
in the red light
through the trees
July! a bird drops
to the sidewalk
like a stone.
The white moon looked nice rising above the nearly-bare trees tonight, though, and the red line of sunset at least looked warm even though the dusk was chilly.
In honor of vanished summer (and to remind me of how eager I was to leave it behind) here's an old favorite poem.
Sunday Verse
The Red Month
by Yvor Winters
The passions of
the race are now
embedded in
the air more
fearful in their
pride of silence
moving rapidly afar
as changes of
the hour or as a
month across the grass
now incest burns
the very shade
hate rains about me
in the red light
through the trees
July! a bird drops
to the sidewalk
like a stone.
