First Known When Lost

The swallows have departed.  The tall, dry meadow grass rustles in the nearly empty air.  Now and then a sparrow suddenly flutters up from b...

This modest (and, of late, fitful) undertaking owes its name to Edward Thomas.  I expressed my thanks to him (accompanied by the touching el...

Each morning, I read a poem.  A long-time habit.  I began a recent spring day with this:      Tilling the field; From the temple among the t...

On a recent afternoon walk, I heard an unseen owl call from somewhere off in the forest: " Hoo-hoo . . .  hoo-hoo ."  This seemed ...

Solely by happenstance, this observation surfaced out of my memory during the past week: "The future's uncertain and the end is alw...

At Christmas, I turn to Thomas Hardy.  (As well as to George Mackay Brown (for instance, " Christmas Poem ": "We are folded ...

Most of the leaves have fallen.  One day last week -- a proverbial "brilliant autumn day" -- I walked past a grove of big-leaf map...