Beginning

The moon drops one or two feathers into the field.   

The dark wheat listens.

Be still.

Now.

There they are, the moon's young, trying

Their wings.

Between trees, a slender woman lifts up the lovely shadow

Of her face, and now she steps into the air, now she is gone

Wholly, into the air.

I stand alone by an elder tree, I do not dare breathe

Or move.

I listen.

The wheat leans back toward its own darkness,

And I lean toward mine.

- James Wright

Comments

[andrea]

I love what your blog has become.

[Lisa]

These are absolutely gorgeous!!

[Aravis]

These are both beautiful, but the first image takes my breath away. It's the sort of thing I could lose myself in.