Tuesday, September 1, 2009

it rained in my sleep

"John the Baptist in the Wilderness," by Geertgen tot Sint-Jans
(click to see the really wonderful detail of his sad and lonely feet)

by Linda Pastan

it rained in my sleep
and in the morning the fields were wet

I dreamed of artillery
of the thunder of horses

in the morning the fields were strewn
with twigs and leaves

as if after a battle
or a sudden journey

I went to sleep in summer
I dreamed of rain

in the morning the fields were wet
and it was autumn


Emma J said...

. . . and here is the power of poetry.

Last night I set this poem to post this morning - a warm night in late summer. And in the morning awoke to the sound of rain and a cold bedroom. The poem had come true.

I put on, for the first time this morning, a jacket and flannel-lined jeans to walk the hills.

Summer is over.

Yes, she may come back, all golden and blowsy-petaled like an opera star for a final farewell performance - and then again, perhaps, for a really, truly final farewell performance. But we all know.

Summer has retired.

It is autumn's turn, waiting here at the corner, slim and smiling her dark smile, shaking from her dark hair yellow leaves

Mrs. Organic said...

I have been thinking of you all week (and darn if I can't find your email addy). It was four years ago this weekend that I waited for my results. Due to the holiday we didn't find out until Wednesday. I certainly hope you get some peace of mind before then. Much love and postive thoughts.

Emma J said...

Thanks, Mrs. O - I think I'm feeling the positive vibe you've been sending. Thanks for thinking of us.

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