||[Oct. 18th, 2015|07:06 pm]
There's a spot in my back yard where I can look about 500 feet southeast and see a maple tree that stands in a yard on the street leading toward the canyon. It is the only tree in the neighborhood that has as yet turned vivid autumnal colors. This evening I watched glow it until it lost the light of the setting sun and turned dark itself. The moon emerged among the scattered clouds and I listened to the falling leaves of my oak and walnut trees rustle as they fell. |
There are distant rumblings of thunder tonight, and there might be a bit more rain later. For now it is still and placid, and I keep thinking of that small pond about half a mile beyond the colorful maple tree. I don't know why. Perhaps it is envy of the calm, reflective surface of it that I keep picturing in my mind's eye.
by Gerald Stern
So one day when the azalea bush was firing
away and the Japanese maple was roaring I
came into the kitchen full of daylight and
turned on my son's Sony sliding over the
lacquered floor in my stocking feet for it was
time to rattle the cannisters and see what
sugar and barley have come to and how Bolero
sounds after all these years and if I'm loyal
still and when did I have a waist that thin?
And if my style was too nostalgic and where
were you when I was burning alive, nightingale?