Friday, October 28, 2016

For this season there is no name


Today: going for an afternoon walk because the sun finally was there. Walking along fields, to that old tree with the bench. Sitting, spinning the poetry wheel, and arriving in: The Park.
For this season there is no name, 
Not summer, and none of the months of the year—
A something inside you. Search your mind
For the green arboriferous Word
(Here's the full poem: The Park by Harry Clifton,
arrived there via the playful Poetry Foundation App.)

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more skies from around the world: skywatch friday

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