Holly Brook, late September, above Hidden Lake, Eagle Cap Wilderness . . .
On the road in the Northwest of America.
One bright clear flame,
hearth-center of my world at night.
I watch its moods—a
single white candle—one
moment a motionless monk
the next, a fickle young woman
looking for her lost car keys,
flickering back and forth
with the whims of a cool autumn breeze.
Either way, the candle burns wholly now.
Not tomorrow, when markets or farms
or yesterday, when other
calamities reigned supreme.
No. The candle burns wholly now,
centered and silent,
letting the winds of the world
and the coming winter
bring what they may.
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|Ponderosa Pines— after burn||Manzanita