The Colour of Life
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| (Found here) |
a hard wind harmless on the window,
a bright fire coughing in the grate,
scones and tea on the table, I feel
suddenly, strangely sad? Why is it,
and what? A loneliness, a longing—
not, it seems, in spite of, but
because of, the loveliest of things.
It is the colour of life. Sabi
the haiku poets would say. I say
too much. I break a scone and steam
wafts from the wound, like
the spirit of a just man, going home.
~Andrew Lansdown
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