rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Passing

Two mild days that refused to fulfill the tentative promise of rain have passed, and where the patchy grass exposes earth the earth is dry and pale. Yesterday there were still clouds, and though they never gained sufficient mass to create a proper overcast, they nonetheless brought intermittent shade, and the cool air would turn cooler still, and all the landscape's greens would be deepened.

Today there was only sunshine, and standing in the light I could feel the coming heat on one side and the cool air only on the other. In the absence of clouds I made small bits of shade myself, and grass and insects and cats could see me as their drifting cloud, briefly blocking the sun that will too soon return to spreading torrid summer and baking the ground under the grass and the grass itself.

They've been nice days and there will be a couple more, and then it will be back to full summer. Well, it will be July after all, and July must be what it is. I'll just remember that June was for a few days cool and sweet, and I'll hope for an early fall.




Sunday Verse



A Blade of Grass


by Brian Patten


You ask for a poem.
I offer you a blade of grass.
You say it is not good enough.
You ask for a poem.

I say this blade of grass will do.
It has dressed itself in frost,
It is more immediate
Than any image of my making.

You say it is not a poem,
It is a blade of grass and grass
Is not quite good enough.
I offer you a blade of grass.

You are indignant.
You say it is too easy to offer grass.
It is absurd.
Anyone can offer a blade of grass.

You ask for a poem.
And so I write you a tragedy about
How a blade of grass
Becomes more and more difficult to offer,

And about how as you grow older
A blade of grass
Becomes more difficult to accept.

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