| Sometimes I just sit like this at the window and watch the darkness come. If I’m smart, I’ll put on Bach. I’m thinking now of how far it always seems there is to go. Maybe it is too easy that I speak so often of late last light on a December day, of that stubborn grass that somehow still remains green behind the broken chain link fence on the corner. But the need is so great for the way light looks as it takes its leave of us. We say what we can to each other of these things, we who are such thieves, stealing first one breath and then the next. Bach, keep going just this slowly, show me the way to believe that what matters in this world has already happened and will go on happening forever. The way light falls on the last of the stricken leaves of the copper beech at the end of the block is something to behold. |
