Much more rain than sunshine these last five or six weeks since we returned to Essex from our cross-country walkabout. Drizzly slow-soakers and sudden gully washers. Never-quite-dry, musty mushroom weather. Lake Champlain riding almost three feet in a couple of weeks, anemic artichokes in the garden, poppies stunted with blooms battered. Rainy day delays compounding missed deadlines for Rosslyn’s icehouse renovation. Mud stalling hardscaping and landscaping. And then… a mysterious misty morning!
Morning Mist
The blurry brume clings
to meadows beyond the barns.
Leggy asters, wild parsnip,
vetch, and tasseled grass,
all swaddled, mirage-like
in fuzzy-muzzy vapors.
[…]
Poetry pieces like puzzle pieces don’t always reveal themselves right away. On the contrary, sometimes recognizing a familiar fragment, holding it up to others, searching for the perfect fit, repeating this process again is a painstaking and purposeful process. Some times that you have one piece with another is good enough. For now.
Perhaps, soon, the rain will stop, and the mist will melt away. And then, given a little perspective, I just might find the missing pieces.
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