Tuesday, November 13, 2012

light traveled over

There is a certain light in winter, right after sunrise, quite pink, low though, too, so it's difficult to capture in the suburbs where the too tall houses loom. I'll keep trying.

Winter is so full of ups and downs - the snow has sunk down since I took these. And the weeds in the field will be more prominent. The snow and frost has been burned off the branches by the sun, and has wobbled off the fence tops.  So it's not nearly as lovely, which really is the consolation of the season.  It feels as though we're back to that in between time, that Roethke talks about in the poem below.  


by Theodore Roethke

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;
The weeds stopped swinging.
The mind moved, not alone,
Through the clear air, in the silence.

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