I am storing up green like grain, opening my eyes wide like cellar doors. Winter is coming. Days without rain or sun or growth. I am filling my soul with this landscape of thick grasses and tall weeds and burgeoning forests as if it is a coffer, as if I am building an ever-green cathedral, as if one more glance will sanctify, render this view immovable and holy, immutable even by the whitest light.


Popular Posts