The snow and the twilight have turned the air as cloudy blue as seaglass, so that trees, telephone poles, houses with yellow-lit windows, fade off much more quickly into the dusk as into fog. I shoveled the front walk and the driveway twice in the same hour and they don't look it. Three days ago, I walked into Harvard Square under such warmth of the sun that I was carrying my jacket over my arm before I'd gotten ten feet from the subway, thinking that any day now I could sing "Wild Mountain Thyme." This ghost-blue storm is midwinter, not less than a week from spring. I baked apples for dessert; I'm translating Greek lyric. Right now, I can live with this.
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Active Entries
- 1: Reading your mind is like foreign TV
- 2: When you turn a solemn promise to a blatant lie
- 3: If one year's back on my shoulder
- 4: Me, I'm a rotten audience before I've had my coffee
- 5: I'm not on my own
- 6: You know what comes right after the dark
- 7: I wish I grew Annapolis apples up above Fundy Bay
- 8: Kicking a peach pit till I worry it's blue
- 9: I liked you better when you weren't cool
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