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On a July Morning By Pat Anthony QuailBellMagazine.com  Already autumn lurks in the ears of corn that will be left in field until the whole of it turns brown and those same ears turn down, dry and whispering Bluebirds and swallows line wires
to practice balance and ballet their first chitterings foretelling when all will wing away into the deeper forests There is this temptation to say I want to hold onto now, trap this light and green and perfect blooms in burgeoning prairie, but already a total eclipse will come to a nearby town and thousands throng to see some two and a half minutes of darkness that I so abhor unless sealed in sleep, shadows and mirrors a prelude to what’s coming, an inevitability to slow these subtle changes, grasses gone to head, sunflowers turning more slowly to meet the sun, and those birds, incessant in their pointing out CommentsComments are closed.
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