First Known When Lost

Where does one begin when it comes to autumn?  And where does one begin when it comes to the poetry of autumn?  For some unknown reason, the...

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...