First Known When Lost

One afternoon last week, as I walked along the edge of a grove of pines and maples, I heard a bird's voice up ahead, high in a pine.  No...

Forty-one years on, I retain very little from my three years of law school.  Memories of friendships.  And of a love.  A las, lost.  As for ...

Over a lifetime, I have failed to give the moon the attention it deserves.  But it is patient and forgiving, despite my faithlessness. Thus,...

As I have mentioned here in the past, each day I read a poem in the morning and a poem in the evening.  This was today's morning poem:  ...

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...