The hills look gaunt in russet garb:
Against the sky the leafless woods
Are dark, and in their solitudes
The chill wind pierces like a barb.
–Clinton Scollard (1860–1932)
Endnote: I just found this lovely little poem about the coming of Winter. The older I get the more I appreciate its' unique opportunities for solitude, a time to reflect and remember.
No comments:
Post a Comment