The dead might wake into a world like this,
And know its white lost ecstasy their own.
I am a stranger wearing flesh and bone,
Peering beyond my dusty chrysalis.
No scent or sound invades the integrity
Of peace beneath the ermined thatch of pine.
Nor whir of wing, nor quick heart-beat of mine
Shall spill the cradled silence from a tree.
No God of Sinai shatters the timeless pause
With “Thou shalt not.”
But from each holy bush
Love speaks, articulate in this white hush.
Here life and death may meet, obeying new laws,
And mingling as easily as flake with flake.
Into a world like this the dead might wake.–Emma Gray Trigg
characterized by the United States Environmental Protection Agency in 1990 as “the most polluted river in the country with respect to toxic sediments.–Wikipedia
A long tenuous moment involved climbing over the Taunton River on the Braga Bridge. Two wheel drive, barely made it up the grade.
In my sister’s favorite kitchen. Nine degrees outside. Snow has stopped.
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