Go up into the gaps. If you can find them; they shift and vanish too. Stalk the gaps. Squeak into a gap in the soil, turn, and unlock-more than a maple- a universe. This is how you spend this afternoon, and tomorrow morning, and tomorrow afternoon. Spend the afternoon. You can’t take it with you. ― Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
Gap
there, beneath
where you once
removed the river rock,
and tossed it to the trees,
an outline remains,
a pocket for rains
smooth sands
by gravity's fingers;
and in your mind,
the rock's still there;
it's the gap that disappears
for #ds106
Pack the bag with ink,
pens, a composition book,
and plenty of poems
Deadwood -
the roughened skin
of an old birch
quietly crumbling
between our fingers,
like rust, becoming dust;
Disintegration
inspired by Wendy's poem https://wentalearn.blogspot.com/2024/12/peeling-life-of-bark.html
Sweetness on the lips
as we sink our teeth into
August summer corn
for when
the sun sets
we wander
always
under the guise
of mystery
It's nature's patterns
in spirals; Fibonacci
numbers, deep inside
The air, cold and crisp,
belies an August's presence;
Autumn elbows in
for Algot
Ink drips in forests -
red shimmering among green -
each leaf, soon transformed
Branches of ripe pears
weighed down by ample sweetness;
perfect for plucking
We wrap the bird song
around us, like a soft cover
of composition