Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. Psalm 30
Before dawn, under a thin moon disappearing east, the planet Mercury, the messenger and healer, came up vanishingly into the blue beyond the garden where three lilies at the bottom of the yard arrayed white trumpets on iron stalks under a slow, slow lightning from the sun. I stood on a rotten step myself, and smelled them from a hundred feet away.
This poem by Brooks Haxton was the one sent yesterday by Knopf which sends a poem a day during National Poetry Week to those who have signed up to receive them -- as I did three years ago. I love having poem arrive every morning. Many are new to me, many of the poets as well are ones I don't know. I believe they have sent this poem on a previous Easter. Although I don't celebrate Easter the poem, without even mentioning the day or celebration is perfect.
The mid-70s are a surprise! Part of me remains in the 50s -- age, I mean, not decade of 20th century. It's a joy ride, new experiences land in my lap and I've become a better quilter, poet, writer than I expected. It's a rich life for a person never rich financially. Hey, this is what the mid-70s are like!