With the freezing and the sleeting and the snowing and the icing, our Poet-in-Residence comes forth with an early winter offering. And just in time: reciting "Now has come, an easy time / I let it roll . . . " seems completely inappropriate as I go hunting for my wool socks. Once again, Ann has curated the perfect little poem for us to savor over the next few weeks. Let's recite it together, from memory, this Thanksgiving weekend, shall we? Thanks, Ann.
Because You Asked about the Line between Prose and Poetry
Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned into pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.
There came a moment that you couldn't tell.
And then they clearly flew instead of fell.
—Howard Nemerov (1920-1991)
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- ▼ November (11)