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A glimpse of lawn
Feb. 23rd, 2025 09:14 amI need something to look forward to in the mornings, this February. A reason to get up other than the material insistence of the body.
I thought about trying to write a poem a day, but a poem -- a poem that makes me happy, anyway -- is a particular mood. So I thought: what's the easiest possible thing? And that would be some kind of description. A glimpse.
* * * * *
In the thirteenth room, the windows look out on a wide green lawn. It's raining, and the props of some game have been abandoned. It might be croquet, except that the mallets look more complicated and, if possible, more menacing.
In the distance, two ranks of heavy trees converge like green hands encircling the lawn. Beyond is a hazy gray sky, as though the ground drops away suddenly at the edge of the grass. Sometimes a bird crosses the empty space, a tiny black flaw like a fleck of ash, or a golden one like a spark. A conflagration of birds, burning just out of sight.
These grounds are not visible from any other window, and no doorway lets out onto them.
One pane of the window has been broken and repaired with a square of black cardboard. Removing the cardboard reveals the howling void beyond. I do not recommend it.
The room smells of dust and brick, extinguished fires, ozone, the jug of water on the mantel of the empty hearth, and an animal, perhaps a dog.
* * * * * *
You can tell by the style that I have been re-reading Piranesi.
§rf§
I thought about trying to write a poem a day, but a poem -- a poem that makes me happy, anyway -- is a particular mood. So I thought: what's the easiest possible thing? And that would be some kind of description. A glimpse.
* * * * *
In the thirteenth room, the windows look out on a wide green lawn. It's raining, and the props of some game have been abandoned. It might be croquet, except that the mallets look more complicated and, if possible, more menacing.
In the distance, two ranks of heavy trees converge like green hands encircling the lawn. Beyond is a hazy gray sky, as though the ground drops away suddenly at the edge of the grass. Sometimes a bird crosses the empty space, a tiny black flaw like a fleck of ash, or a golden one like a spark. A conflagration of birds, burning just out of sight.
These grounds are not visible from any other window, and no doorway lets out onto them.
One pane of the window has been broken and repaired with a square of black cardboard. Removing the cardboard reveals the howling void beyond. I do not recommend it.
The room smells of dust and brick, extinguished fires, ozone, the jug of water on the mantel of the empty hearth, and an animal, perhaps a dog.
* * * * * *
You can tell by the style that I have been re-reading Piranesi.
§rf§
