By James Wright
Asleep on the black trunk,
Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year's horses
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life.
3 comments:
It's an odd thing how turned around we can get -- and to realize that the harder we try at some things the more we are wasting our life.
And that really slowing down to open into what is right in front of us can fill our lives with meaning ... like a flood.
And we did nothing.
Hey! I am deep into "Nathan Coulter" and loving it. It's one of those books that I find myself reading really fast because I love it, but then make myself slow down so I can savor it.
Thanks for the recommendation! I've got a couple other Wendell Berrys on the nightstand!
So glad you like him.
Read A Place On Earth, then Hannah Coulter, then Jayber Crow. I'll be surprised if you're disappointed.
Those recipes in Kingsolver's book are fantastic, aren't they? My mom and I used to talk about them. She tried several, as you're doing.
Peace.
Post a Comment