I looked back and like Lot’s wife that did it… Supposing I’d start to slip back for good, these screes might start sliding any time anyway […] Finally I came to a kind of ledge where I could sit at a level angle instead of having to cling not to slip, and I nudged my whole body inside the ledge just to hold me there tight, so the wind would not dislodge me, and I looked down and around and I had had it.
Friday Unrelated Information
Belated 4th Poem
simply themselves. Their green
seems such a tender green,
their contours so significant
to the tourists who stare
towards the far range of mountains
as if they are listening
to the page of history tearing
or to what they know themselves of warfare
between brothers. In this scenery
cows and cannons stand side by side
and motionless, as if they had grown here.
The cannons on their simple wheels
resemble farm carts, children
climb them. Thus function disappears almost entirely
into form, and what is left under
the impartial blue of the sky is a landscape
where dandelions lie in the tall grass
like so many spent cartridges, turning
at last to the smoke
of puffballs; where the only red
visible comes at sunset;
where the earth has grown so lovely
it seems to forgive us even as we are learning
to forgive ourselves.
Tuesday Project Roundup: Making It Happen
It’s Monday
Friday Unrelated Information
Two Videos
Wednesday Poem
Evening comes long hours late
And the still unmoving air
Cools the fevered hands of Fate.
Meadows where the afternoon
Hangs suspended in a flower
And the moments of our doom
Drift upon a weightless hour.
And we who thought that surely night
Would bring us triumph or defeat
Only find the stars are white
Clover at our naked feet.