September, Inverness

This is a poem by Robert Hass. I post it with a recommendation that you buy his new book, and look forward to a summer whose spring hasn’t yet arrived.

Tomales Bay is flat blue in the

    Indian summer heat.

This is the time when hikers on

    Inverness Ridge

Stand on tiptoe to pick ripe


That the deer can’t reach. This is

    the season of lulls –

Egrets hunting in the tidal

    shallows, a ribbon

Of sandpipers fluttering over

    mudflats, white,

Then not. A drift of mist wisping

    off the bay.

This is the moment when bliss is

    what you glimpse

From the corner of your eye, as

    you drive past

Running errands, and the wind

    comes up,

And the surface of the water

    glitters hard against it.

This post represents the first of a new regular Friday (I know, it’s Thursday) series in which I will be recommending a book. Enjoy.


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