Nightsong

A breeze is blowing steadily down the ridge, making the dry leaves skitter along the pavement. The moon has reached it's cheshire-cat grin phase, rising level above the treetops. A nice night for bats. I listen to the sound of the wind in the pines for a while, then go into the house to make a cup of tea, and watch the cats sleeping while I type away. The sound of the keyboard is oddly like the sound the leaves are making outside.

Winters

ALONE

by Yvor Winters


I, one who never speaks,
Listened days in summer trees,
Each day a rustling leaf!
Then, in time, my unbelief
Grew like my running:
My own eyes did not exist!
When I struck I never missed!
Noon, felt and far away,
My brain is a thousand bees.


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