Читать книгу Digging for God - Anne Higgins - Страница 14

Sitting at the small square table

facing the window, refugee

from the country of longing

where clouds of grief

obscure the mountains,

country cooled by sorrow, heated by dread,

blasted by gusts of panic,

I finger the coffee cup.

Here, the weather is more benevolent.

Mild winds ruffle the oak tree.

The lavish sun ripens

hydrangeas and raspberries.

The intimate sound

of the hummingbird’s

arrival at the feeder

interrupts my fragile silence.