I want to go to there.
thin above Salem. The calm cold sea
accepts the sun as an equal, a match:
the horizon a truce, the air all still.
Sun, but no shadows somehow, the trees
ideally deleafed, a contemplative gray
that ushers into the woods (in summer
crammed with undergrowth) sheer space.
How fortunate it is to move about
without impediment, Nature having
no case to make, no special weather to plead,
unlike some storm-obsessed old symphonist.
The day is piano; I see buds so subtle
they know, though fat, that this is no time to bloom.”
Like a single
the red cardinal
on a pine
is our only
Best day of my life was a storm day.
They closed the pass.
(FUCK YEAH POND SKIMMING AT THE END!)
Oh fuck yes.
Come on winter, come on!