Hi Everyone, I trust today finds you all well.
This morning dawned bright and fair, the trees taking on a aged look as they wait for the fresh springs growth, but even so there is a magic in the lichen growing on the branches glistening in the damp and reflected by the sun. Almost ethereal look to them like a living tree in an enchanted forest, I am just waiting for the mouth to appear and the tree to start talking.
My foray into town yesterday has really inspired me to get on with the dresses for my granddaughter as well as seeing if they will be good enough to sell at local craft fairs, we will see. I did find a couple of suitable sized patterns on-line, so head down and get on with it. I hope you liked the pictures of the cardie's yesterday, I am about to finish another so more pictures to come. As you know I knit in the evening and am at a total loss as to what to do with my hands if I have no knitting to do, no hope for me really.
Today's offering is Lichen glows in the moonlight, by John Kinsella, a new one for me and a poet I intend to look up and read his other work.
Lichen Glows in
the Moonlight
Lichen
glows in the moonlight
so fierce
only cloud blocking
the moon
brings relief. Then passed by,
recharged
it leaps up off rocks
and
suffocates—there is no route
through
rocks without having to confront
its
beseeching—it lights the way,
not the
moon, and outdoes epithets
like
phosphorescent, fluorescent, or florescent:
it smirks
and smiles and lifts the corner
of its
lips in hideous or blissful collusion,
and birds
pipe an eternal dawn, never knowing
when to
sleep or wake. They might
be tricked
into thinking their time’s up,
in the
spectrum of lichen, its extra-gravital
persuasion,
its crackling movement
remembered
as still, indifferent, barely
living
under the sun, or on a dark night;
climbing
up you’d escape, but like all great
molecular
weights it leaves traces
you carry
with you into the realms
of comfort and faith.
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