Field in Spring
By Susan Stewart
Your eye moving
left to right across
the plowed lines
looking to touch down
on the first
shoots coming up
like a frieze
from the dark where
pale roots
and wood-lice gorge
on mold.
Red haze atop
the far trees.
A two dot, then
a ten dot
ladybug. Within
the wind, a per-
pendicular breeze.
Hold a mirror,
horizontal,
to the rain. Now
the blurred repetition
of ruled lines, the faint
green, quickening,
the doubled tears.
Wake up.
The wind is not for seeing,
neither is the first
song, soon half-
way gone,
and the figures,
the figures are not waiting.
To see what is
in motion you must move.
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Quickie after a brief '70s flashback -- we got two alerts in a row about gas shortages and given the state of our gas meter and the prevalence of Virginia drivers coming to Maryland, we decided we had better try to fill up tonight. On a positive note, the fuel truck had just arrived at Shell when we did, so we knew that there would be gas, but we had to wait while the pump tanks were refilled and the pumps were reset, then while lines of cars competed from both directions to get to the pumps first.
It was otherwise an active day almost by pre-pandemic standards: I had an early online checkup (labs all good), we went out to get bagels from Goldberg's for the first time in over 14 months and stopped in Dunkin' to grab breakfast sandwiches for the first time in just as long, we took a walk to enjoy the flowers, I watched Voyager's "Meld" with my Trek fan friends, then after Supergirl which finally had lots of Lena, we went to get gas! This is what the other residents of the house did:
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