The Light
This poem was inspired by the scene in the photo. Such light. The photo does not come close to recreating that light. I had a cup of coffee while the sound of the water gurgled on.
The Light That leaf glows a luminous emerald while the shaded twin sits a somber green; this is how it is with every lit and unlit thing. A shining fast creek is less sinister than its shaded portion, which holds a dark torpedo while just there rising into the light, a trout in glistening speckles. I have seen a field full of wheat shift from waving beige to a shimmering sheet of gold and its fringe of poppies transmute from a trudging russet to a red band of flame. Is there nothing that does not brighten to your touch? “No”, says Sol. “It is my kiss that brings them all forth and this is how they thank me.” 4/23-Fontaine-de-Vaucluse
One of those places where you think, "God paused here for a while and tidied up a bit."
This exactly. That thing just beyond the corner, or the trees.
Poetry has had power unlike any other written word for me - since I first read Whitman (a matter of geography) and Wordsworth.
And thank you for sending me to read Thomas Grays powerful words.