Читать книгу The Dream of Reason - Jenny George - Страница 11

Rehearsal

Another morning, raw sun on the snow—

the snow melted back in places, exposing the yellow grass.

I almost forget what shame is, the birds

coming down from the trees onto the wet, releasing earth.

They take quick, strategic bites of it—what only they can see:

seeds, tiny husks of insects frozen to transparency.

Then they fly off all at once, a mysterious agreement.

The great event—has it already occurred? Or is it waiting

in the future and we are standing fragile in front of it?

Or is it now, today—the snow crawling imperceptibly back

from the grass, the sun burning a white hole in the sky?