rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


The full rain held off while I was out, but flecked the pavement with dark dots that briefly spread and shrank, and sprinkled my face with a few cool droplets. Once home, I heard the downpour begin, and watched the gray sky send streaks of glimmering silver to blacken the tree trunks and make the dull street shine. Only then did I notice how swiftly the oaks have leafed out, concealing great swaths of dark pine with fresh green. It finally feels like April, despite the smoke I see curling from chimneys. Winter is buried by new growth, and the woods' fine shade already prepared for summer.

Sunday Verse

Wild Swans

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I looked in my heart while the wild swans went over.
And what did I see I had not seen before?
Only a question less or a question more;
Nothing to match the flight of wild birds flying.
Tiresome heart, forever living and dying,
House without air, I leave you and lock your door.
Wild swans, come over the town, come over
The town again, trailing your legs and crying!


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