rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


I've spent hours luxuriating in what may turn out to have been the last cold night for a long time. There were clouds to engage the moon, usurping and fragmenting its light, and chill breezes, damp scented, full of earth and wood. Sky and land were pleased with one another, and the crickets found slow songs to sing, as I found time to listen. Even when early paleness (that paleness which would be perceived as darkness were it seen lurking in some deep enclosure by day) rose in the east to make more stark the silhouettes of the trees, it all fit together and was exactly right. The weather knows just what it's doing.

Sunday Verse

So You Say

by Mark Strand

It is all in the mind, you say, and has
nothing to do with happiness. The coming of cold,
the coming of heat, the mind has all the time in the world.
You take my arm and say something will happen,
something unusual for which we were always prepared,
like the sun arriving after a day in Asia,
like the moon departing after a night with us.

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