Found on The Writer’s Almanac, today:
The snow begins; the pretense of life ends.
The earth is white now; the fields shine when the moon rises.I sit at the bedroom window, watching the snow fall.
The earth is like a mirror:
calm meeting calm, detachment meeting detachment.What lives, lives underground.
What dies, dies without struggle.— excerpt from “Harvest” by Louise Glück from A Village Life.
