Today geese jab the
winter grass with their mighty
beaks. The Absolute
God of cold is no-
where to be seen. No
snow. Let the geese
be geese, says the God of love,
from nowhere. Let them
amble, eat, converse
in low gravelly tones, just
so you let them be.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
Author: Tom D'Evelyn
Tom D'Evelyn is a private editor and writing tutor in Cranston RI and, thanks to the web, across the US and in the UK. He can be reached at tom.develyn@comcast.net. D'Evelyn has a PhD in Comparative Literature from UC Berkeley. Before retiring he held positions at The Christian Science Monitor, Harvard University Press, Boston University and Brown University. He ran a literary agency for ten years, publishing books by Leonard Nathan and Arthur Quinn, among others. Before moving to Portland OR he was managing editor at Single Island Press, Portsmouth NH. He blogs at http://tdevelyn.com and other sites.
View all posts by Tom D'Evelyn
Metaxyturn Diaries 