Autumn · Nature · Photography

Today. Billy Collins

It’s not spring, but when I walked outside yesterday morning – under crisp, blue skies – I was reminded of this poem by Billy Collins. In the afternoon, as soon as I could, I grabbed my camera and headed out down Hydraulic Road. It wasn’t even the golden hour, but the sun was bright, the sky was clear and my camera trigger-finger was itchy.

Today by Billy Collins

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze

that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house

and unlatch the door to the canary’s cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,

a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies

seemed so etched in sunlight
that you felt like taking

a hammer to the glass paperweight
on the living room end table,

releasing the inhabitants
from their snow-covered cottage

so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting

into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.

 

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