Quarter after three
on a bit of a brisk
late-April day,
with winds of, say, fifteen to twenty,
and, except
for the bank of cloud down over the Bisti,
the sky, even for here, ultra-clear.
Last night I read
a volume of the life and times
of a friend of mine,
whose visionary way
of seeing and being’s
lifted not merely her
herself and family, but many
with its humanity,
in addition to its clarity.
Thank you, Joy.
David Stevenson
Farmington
