Sheep are quite irresistible when one is on a late-summer walk, camera in hand. These are my daughter's Shetlands. They are small sheep--see their tiny little feet? Having gotten used to the idea of sheep from children's storybooks with their fluffy, cotton-ball sheepikins, I am sometimes dismayed at how grungy sheep can get lying around in the barn and the pasture. But I love their solemn regard.
Tonight's Charles Wright poem responds to a question.
What Do You Write
About, Where Do Your
Ideas Come From?
Landscape, of course, the idea of God and language
itself, that pure grace
which is invisible and sure and clear,
Fall equinox two hours old,
Pine cones dangling and doomed over peach tree and privet,
Clouds bulbous and buzzard-traced.
The Big Empty is also a subject of some note,
Dark, dark and never again,
The missing world and there you have it,
heart and heart beat,
Never again and never again,
Backyard and backdrop of earth and sky
Jury-rigged carefully into place,
Wind from the west and then some
Everything up and running hard,
everything under way,
Never again never again.
from Appalachia: poems, Kindle location 434.
So perhaps I could write about sheep, or mullein spikes abloom in the pasture, or the end of a quiet weekend day. Chicken-like, (see the chickens near the far fence?) I usually try to stay away from The Big Empty, though. Good night!