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| Larry Welo |
As imperceptibly as Grief
The Summer lapsed away—
Too imperceptible at last
To seem like Perfidy—
A Quietness distilled
As Twilight long begun,
Or Nature spending with herself
Sequestered Afternoon—
The Dusk drew earlier in—
The Morning foreign shone—
A courteous, yet harrowing Grace,
As Guest, that would be gone—
And thus, without a Wing
Or service of a Keel
Our Summer made her light escape
Into the Beautiful.
Emily Dickinson
Dickinson has a way of putting everything in a poem
without making it heavy.
A sadness without wallowing. A lightness without taking lightly.
And that "our Summer" - I see how one word changes everything.
Are the passing seasons of my life an "escape into the Beautiful"?
Or do I look back with regret at what is gone?
Into the Beautiful - !
That's where I want to go.
