IT WAS BEGINNING WINTER It was beginning winter, An in-between time, The landscape still partly brown: The bones of weeds kept swinging in the wind, Above the blue snow. It was beginning winter, The light moved slowly over the frozen field, Over the dry seed-crowns, The beautiful surviving bones Swinging in the wind. Light traveled over the wide field; Stayed. The weeds stopped swinging. The mind moved, not alone, Through the clear air, in silence. Was it light? Was it light within? Was it light within light? Stillness becoming alive, Yet still? A lively understandable spirit Once entertained you. It will come again. Be still. Wait. - Theodore Roethke (from The Lost Son)
Posted on: Mon, 15 Dec 2014 14:46:13 +0000
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