The air is the color of waiting. I sit under the pines as evening gathers itself into stillness. I am waiting for the last of the red light to fall quietly across the ground. The needles beneath me cross and recross in a pattern too intricate to belong to accident or to design. I stare downward until their lines begin to move as though what I am seeing has been breathing all along. I think of when I first saw this sky, how its silence touched my eyes, and for a moment I think recognition itself is the world, that what returns is never the same but always brings its shadow with it. I cannot tell what time it is. Light seems to rest on its own reflection. Everything holds. Even the wind seems to stand aside. And I sit here under the pines waiting for the shape of the sky to become the shape of my looking.
This is a wonderful reflection, Paul. And, apart from anything else, I can really visualise you sitting there trying to decide if there is an intended pattern in the seemingly random way that pine needles fall. Such an evocative image!
Good Sunday, Martin. Thanks for sitting with me for a moment. I’ve said elsewhere that I originally wrote this as a recollection but recreated it in the present tense because I felt it lacked a sense of immediacy. I think it worked out.
Paul, did you ever imagine that people in all 50 states and in more countries than you can reasonably locate on a map (80) would be sitting there, quietly reading your words? What an astonishing, earned joy that is.
On the hard days, when the world feels small and thankless, remember us: the ones who wait for your sentences like jewels in the air, hands outstretched, catching every one.
Paul… your poems frequently return me to places I long to be… where the treasure is the place itself… where though we’ve never met, they are filled with shared memories. Thank you.
Paul, I sit with your scene and something familiar rises. Light creates its own form of movement, even when the air holds its breath. The ground shifts through shadows and everything rearranges itself in silence. Impermanence becomes visible in these small transitions. The sky changes, the needles change, my own looking changes. Your piece brings me into that quiet, living chaos where nothing stays fixed and everything keeps forming itself again. Beautiful poem.
I do have a bit of a different relationship with the natural world, mostly because I don’t feel a deep attachment to nature. I am, however, often moved by the emotions nature can evoke, and I try to use language to capture them.
Pine needles lay, a carpet cushion to cover the lady slippers in spring. No need to waste the time on the random tossed needles lines that cris cross—unless you are going for tic tac toe grid. The colors pre-evening arrive. Enjoy the now moment. When the spirit rises you will know the light has faded. Time to see the stars shine or go make popcorn. Life is just filled with wind, pine needles softly falling. Your words in a pattern I don’t need to wait. The night is here. Stars shine A love mist, dew settles just Little touches that wear crystal earrings.
Rain gone . Sunny days ahead. Leaf mulch feeds earthworms. A good diversion with nifty-fifties temps. Sweater weather and down vest apropos. Soups hot. Stop for a big spoonful. Cayenne pepper on the side.
We have a Walleye Pike festival every June, I think, and sturgeon are a prize for every fisherman. I think the shanties on the ice catch quite a lot of beer bottles and cans.
I’m in Fond du Lac, located at the southern tip of Lake Winnebago, about 42 minutes west of Sheboygan and a bit more than an hour northeast of Madison. We could have snow by the end of the month and temps in the teens and low 20s. Ice fishing is popular so long as the ice grows thick enough to drive on.
This poem gives me loneliness and appreciation at the same time. Very cinematic! I don’t know how many sunsets I’ve photographed and written poems about. I love this new perspective and symbolism of the sun going down.
This is a wonderful reflection, Paul. And, apart from anything else, I can really visualise you sitting there trying to decide if there is an intended pattern in the seemingly random way that pine needles fall. Such an evocative image!
Good Sunday, Martin. Thanks for sitting with me for a moment. I’ve said elsewhere that I originally wrote this as a recollection but recreated it in the present tense because I felt it lacked a sense of immediacy. I think it worked out.
Good Sunday, @KathieOC, and thank you for this restack!
Thanks for this restack, @Margaret Fleck
Paul, did you ever imagine that people in all 50 states and in more countries than you can reasonably locate on a map (80) would be sitting there, quietly reading your words? What an astonishing, earned joy that is.
On the hard days, when the world feels small and thankless, remember us: the ones who wait for your sentences like jewels in the air, hands outstretched, catching every one.
Paul… your poems frequently return me to places I long to be… where the treasure is the place itself… where though we’ve never met, they are filled with shared memories. Thank you.
Thank you, Joshua! 🙏😊
Paul, I sit with your scene and something familiar rises. Light creates its own form of movement, even when the air holds its breath. The ground shifts through shadows and everything rearranges itself in silence. Impermanence becomes visible in these small transitions. The sky changes, the needles change, my own looking changes. Your piece brings me into that quiet, living chaos where nothing stays fixed and everything keeps forming itself again. Beautiful poem.
Thanks to @Frankie Wylde for sharing this
I do have a bit of a different relationship with the natural world, mostly because I don’t feel a deep attachment to nature. I am, however, often moved by the emotions nature can evoke, and I try to use language to capture them.
Good Sunday afternoon, @Deni and thak you for sharing this
Good Sunday, @Kimberly Root, and thanks for this restack!
Good Sunday, Diane and thank you to @Blue Citizen 77 for this restack.
Thanks, Paul—enjoy today💙
Thanks to @Portia for sharing this.
Thanks for sharing this, @Patricia Andrews (WA)
Grateful to the Haiku King for this restack, thank you, @Harley King
Pine needles lay, a carpet cushion to cover the lady slippers in spring. No need to waste the time on the random tossed needles lines that cris cross—unless you are going for tic tac toe grid. The colors pre-evening arrive. Enjoy the now moment. When the spirit rises you will know the light has faded. Time to see the stars shine or go make popcorn. Life is just filled with wind, pine needles softly falling. Your words in a pattern I don’t need to wait. The night is here. Stars shine A love mist, dew settles just Little touches that wear crystal earrings.
Sounds wonderful to me, Richard. Are you still getting rain? ☔️
Rain gone . Sunny days ahead. Leaf mulch feeds earthworms. A good diversion with nifty-fifties temps. Sweater weather and down vest apropos. Soups hot. Stop for a big spoonful. Cayenne pepper on the side.
We have a Walleye Pike festival every June, I think, and sturgeon are a prize for every fisherman. I think the shanties on the ice catch quite a lot of beer bottles and cans.
Anglers delight gathering around lanterns light for heat and comradely.
I think our daughter told me the weather was expected to clear as she was decorating her Christmas tree.
Where are you in Wisconsin? Stayed in Madison,, Sheboygan, Dells, n bratwurst festival. Wonder when you get snow. I could deal with ice fishing.
I’m in Fond du Lac, located at the southern tip of Lake Winnebago, about 42 minutes west of Sheboygan and a bit more than an hour northeast of Madison. We could have snow by the end of the month and temps in the teens and low 20s. Ice fishing is popular so long as the ice grows thick enough to drive on.
Frozen muskelunge denizens with barracuda teeth.
This poem gives me loneliness and appreciation at the same time. Very cinematic! I don’t know how many sunsets I’ve photographed and written poems about. I love this new perspective and symbolism of the sun going down.
Thank you, S.E.