Uploaded on February 1, 2012
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough with the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there, and the nothing that is.
—Wallace Stevens
The Palm at the End of the Mind: Selected Poems and a Play
02.01.2024: Getting shots like these meant pulling over, waiting for cars to go by, feeling sheepish, wondering who was watching and who was wondering.