Under the day star, our star, I walked the
mid-winter creekbed washed in afternoon’s
mild light. Last night’s ice still whitened hidden
pools, tenacious in the bank’s enduring
shade. These natural facts: Dry stones grinding,
clinking underfoot; the streamside velveted
with sudden, vivid moss–one artesian
seep weeping like an eye focused on the
distance far too long. We are vanished stars.
No matter how we wander, we are home.
— Elizabeth Dodd
This is superb, Elizabeth–absolutely superb. I was pulled in by its contemplative tone and struck by the truth of it, then drawn back into it again and again, as much for thought as for the pleasure it offers the ear when read aloud. For all its subtlety and the quiet that permeates it, it is sumptuous. Bravo!
Thank you, Patricia! Nice to see you here in the virtual community… It’s been toooo long since real-life talkl.