Ironic Pessimism
Pfenix Quinn
Old stones stand sentry at the edge of New England towns, illuminated only by fireflies, silent witnesses to the passing world. They silently announce to passers-by a crossing into Barnstable or Sandwich. Whizzing along in their Jeeps and 4x4's, busy busy motorists miss the solemnity of the markers, unaware of their long-standing duty.
I know it's just lights from cars whizzing by on their way to the adventure park, lights bouncing brightly off the wall just down the hall from where I sit. And I remind my mind that it's so. Yet it insists on seeing glimpses of former residents of this two centuries plus old house, carrying a candle and floating along in a flowing night gown, hurrying to hear the news from a late-night visitor that the reign of Adams is done and Jefferson has been elected.
Comments
"It is the mellow season
When gold enchantment lies
On stream and road and woodland,
To gladden soul's surmise.
The little old grey homesteads
Are quiet as can be,
Among their stone-fenced orchards
And meadows by the sea."
-- Bilss Carman
wut
yup
wut x2
ay-yup
Nice.
thanks!
beer.
o7
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