Early light slants low across the lawn.
Cuplike, this little valley brims with sun.
Pages fill and empty. In the mist
of a still morning, nothing’s out of reach.
Decades fade, the past glides into range,
recoverable, a pristine cobweb caught
motionless in one slat of morning light.
You’re on your daily walk uphill and back.
Summer’s end balances autumn’s start.
One apple falls without a breath of wind,
but fruit past counting’s hidden in the tall
wet grass. Like this valley now, my heart
is full. I start to climb the hill toward you.
My soul flies out to greet you coming down.
Tunnel Vision
Alice Roberts is a familiar face in British media. A skilled archaeologist, she has for years hosted…
The German Bishops’ Conference, Over the Cliff
When it was first published in 1993, Pope St. John Paul II’s encyclical on the reform of…
In Praise of Translation
The circumstances of my life have been such that I have moved, since adolescence, in a borderland…