rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Near a paper lag sought

It seems the sun is adamant and will not shrink this year. It comes to toast the bare branches, bleaching the twigs I see tangling afternoon air. Over there, it sparkles as flung back by persistently green hedge leaves which never give way to winter. This year it's the winter itself that's given way though. I'm never sure on waking anymore whether to expect light like spring or light more like spring. I'm always being fooled. I open the window and the inrush is chilly. Got me again!

Sunday Verse

The Crickets Sang

by Emily Dickinson

The Crickets sang
And set the Sun
And Workmen finished one by one
Their Seam the Day upon.

The low Grass loaded with the Dew
The Twilight stood, as Strangers do
With Hat in Hand, polite and new
To stay as if, or go.

A Vastness, as a Neighbor, came
A Wisdom, without Face, or Name
A Peace, as Hemispheres at Home
And so the Night became.

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