And a cloud is floating, a round cloud,
like a cap on my head,
and my time passes, like a dream
dreamed without sleep.
________________
I was back reading Gennady Aygi
in late July — muggy wet weather
blasted by a now and then breezy lovely
sunny day to ride the bicycle (we rode
the bicycles on the muggy wet days too),
each book beautifully presented by Peter France
Salute — to Singing; Time of Gratitude;
Winter Revels and Ever Further into the Snow
and so many of his other books on my shelves
________________________
About One More Wood
From this little wood,
at last,
for ever or for years
the mushrooms have gone.
This happened slowly,
over thirty years.
And now, as I think back,
this disappearance, their "going"
seems one single action,
like the dying away
of a long-lived orchestra
of a long-lived choir.
take care little mushrooms
