The sunshine of poetry casts shadows
- Lawrence Ferlinghetti
- Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Perhaps it is quiet in the pine woods. All the trees are misted
with the day’s last light. A small, dark bug turns on the lip of a green leaf
where tiny white flowers are growing out of a damp log.
Maybe as you stop at a rock by the water to watch the sun set, the
evening breeze carries an aromatic elixir of pine needle, waterfall, and mossy
trunk. The horizon holds open the landscape to an enveloping cloud of darkness,
the precise shape and contour of the granite boulder that you are sitting on.
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