22 Lines

Busy weekend with family gathering on Saturday and Sunday I spent most of the day at my wife's office helping rearrange things. I did carve out a little bit of time to read some poetry over the weekend and did write a bit, even if it wasn't a great deal.

The sky was a beautiful filtered pink glow when I left for work this morning. Looks like it could turn out to be a nice day outside even though the morning started out a bit chilly.

Found a deliciously interesting article on Donald Hall I wanted to share. There were several things I found fascinating but among them was reference to a poem of Hall's that appeared in the Nov. 13th New Yorker under what now seems a somewhat ambiguous title, Maples. Mike Pride reports in this article that the poem condenses Hall's nearly entire 78 year lifespan into these 22 lines and at the same time providing an insight to the themes of his life's work in poetry: decline & loss, place, nature, mankind's addiction to wanton destruction. Read the piece here.