The grass and the clouds

The grass and the clouds above me and below, alone, in the morning cold, and the sun is shining, everything sparkling with dew. Birds repeat their patterned calls, good morning. The sun is warming my cheek, facing south, sitting quietly, thinking. A dog was barking as the train left the town, in the distance. Seagulls gather in a field behind a plow.

October 1971