Oh, to re-create those golden, beautiful summers you describe! I was transported. The if only, if only, that follows is a melancholy counterpoint, as were the haiku that followed. Beautiful and evocative.
Thank you, ever and again, for reading these. The seasons advance, and there’s nothing they can do but exist as they are. Why do so many human beings fuss over what another person cannot, and should not, change?
Thank you. That last stanza let me stand against those who would make my choices for me, and who would deny us the chance to say for ourselves who we might be, or where we might land. Thanks again.
Each raindrop is buffeted and torn in its way down. You’re right though: the clouds have as little choice about their speed or direction as the raindrops do. Thanks for your thoughts and for taking time with these.
You’re very kind, and I thank you for your thoughtful response to these. The last skyscraper’s bite came naturally, especially as I consider the false choices that are being forced upon yet another generation of kids subjected to this era’s neopuritanism. Thanks again.
I had to love The Garlic Question. It made me smile, and l may never be in the kitchen without being reminded of that poem. Choosing’s last stanza was powerful enough to make me reread it several times over. I may put it on my classroom door. My students will say I live by red ink. That made your poem by that name stand out to me, and I read it, nodding as I went along. I’m delighted with all three of these!
About Choosing
Does the rain
opt to let its cloud go,
and can it select its landing place,
either parched plain or fever swamp or tidy lawn,
as if its preference might matter
to a tired, thirsty world
where it falls?
Crocuses
don’t choose which sunny day
to open themselves to birds and bees,
for it is in their nature to spread wide their arms
joining earth to sky and sky to earth
before the ground can warm
to spr
Let me add to what ought to be a loud sound of applause for this story. I’m enjoying it very much. As in any mystery, I’m keeping my opinions - my suspicions - to myself, lest I inadvertently give something away. Well done!
Thanks for taking time to read this. As often happens in science fiction, real life overtakes fiction - AI may put Loy out of a job, or make surveillance impossible to evade. But as we discover in the text you quote (and in our own time), AI is only as good as the sources from which it gleans information.
This is one of your most beautiful and rich poems. In it, I experience your walk along the street, through the simple powerful images you use. Trees that do not ask for much, and Loneliness dragging its coat make me want to look about my own world to see who’s there.