“Alas!” said Hiya, “the sentiments which this person expressed with irreproachable honourableness when the sun was high in the heavens and the probability of secretly leaving an undoubtedly well-appointed home was engagingly remote, seem to have an entirely different significance when recalled by night in a damp orchard, and on the eve of their fulfilment.”
Now, underneath the snowpack,
I shovel-cut into the spreading shoots
Releasing a pungency - the long forgotten scent of summer
Into the cold, crisp winter air.
Sweet, and a treat for all the senses.
Posted by ronlusk at September 20, 2004 02:46 PM