Lamps

This morning when I turned on the lamp, it flickered, and then went dark.  It is decades old; my husband's mother used to read by it. It is large, and not very practical, but I have always been fond of it. I searched for a light bulb, but, as typical for these sort of interruptions, we have none in the house. I read a poem anyway. This is one of those times when I will not elaborate with a photograph; the author's images provide more than enough light. 

I think I shall enjoy this book very much. 

 

Spring Evening in Sparse Woods

I can hear the red-winged blackbirds calling, squawking as 

they do around a ripe cornfield, but it's still spring, the corn 

barely up. They make a noise now that rises with the cloud of

new dusk. In the woods across the road the grass is trying to be 

quiet because the night is coming, while the long branches of the

lone evergreen are lifting up the half-moon as if it were a child.      

  

Darkness Sticks to Everything 

Tom Hennen