Our hard-burning summer has shattered into September and slow rain at last. I took my little brother on a picnic yesterday afternoon and we read The Hobbit under an umbrella in a steady drizzle. In the evenings we are lighting candles again and sleeping with our windows open for the air and the little crickets and the plunking drops that come hurtling off of the roof.
Here’s a little piece excerpted from my poetry collection, Having Decided to Stay:
the ocean-blue bowl won’t
refuse to bruise, won’t hold it back
from the gaping earth-wounds.
There will still come
water, chill wind and happy
and in the utmost corners of oaks,