… or so I predict. Such a silly thing. The branches of some trees have already blown bare, others are just beginning their radiance. It’s later that the torches of tamaracks will begin.
On these stunningly beautiful autumn days, the cats and I wake early. They’re easily satisfied with a few morsels of cat food, a rub on their furry heads, a few more sticks in the wood stove. The two of them stretch on the rug before the stove, worshipping.
Daughter and I go about our day. Coffee and dishes and firewood. At night, I dream of spring peepers.
Here’s not the famous lines from Robert Frost that rattle through my mind these days. Instead, Ezra Pound:
IN A STATION OF THE METRO
The apparition of these faces in the crowd:— Ezra Pound
Petals on a wet, black bough.
5 thoughts on “Peak Foliage, Thursday 1:35 p.m.”
Love that sky!
Prettiest time in Vermont!
I believe it:)
The beauty of Ezra Pound’s final line makes one forgive all else he might think or do.
Well….. he was certainly not a tepid figure by any means. I still very much love this poem.