as the late noise of traffic, of shrill birdsong,
dies away, do I always recall
those brief summers, when the old folks
reclined in the grass on the hill
When the sampan glides to shore, the bird lands back on the shoulder of the rowing girl while lotus leaves whisper in the morning sunshine.
Where long the shadows of the wind had rolled,
Green wheat was yielding to the change assigned;
And as by some vast magic undivined
The world was turning slowly into gold.
This place used to be
called Helltown and some people still call it
that, except at that precise hour when the sky
over the mountains is a perfect flinty lapis lazuli
blue, and the river is a woman named Edna with
the most joyous laugh
The Amish have become an experiment in herd immunity, the direction where we all seem to be headed in the U.S.
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. This past Saturday, Heather, Maggie, Julien, and I were going south on Route 11 just outside of downtown Harrisonburg, Virginia. We were there for a quick, cheap, winter getaway … Continue reading →