I am thinking of light, and how, after summer burns itself out at last, and its sharp, hot blaze fades from thought, light softens, drapes its brilliance in an airy golden veil, and slips into hidden corners. The good Earth tilts, leans into winter, and the long dark, and the deep rest; lingering, for only a breath, in the angled autumn light.
©stephanie pepper, 2021
I so appreciate your poem and smiled at “the good earth.” That book happens to be a favorite.
Sent from my iPhone
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