The valley lies still in the profound green
of late-summer fullness. Scarcely a breath
on the air. Little expectancy. But the spirit
holds. There is much trouble in the world
but no diminution of hope, though the spring
acclamations of birdsong have been falling
silent. Quick midsummer thunderstorms
have gone by. I have let the red gate swing
open to the demands of noon—in deep
shadows of the wood a smallest creature
stirs, hesitates; at the wood’s edge, something
shifts among the grasses, falls still. Upstairs
the notebooks lie open, the laptop idles. I
pause awhile, inhale, turn toward the house.
Edward Salem is the author of Intifadas (Sarabande) and Monk Fruit (Nightboat). His writing has appeared in the Paris Review, Yale Review, Granta, New York Review of Books, Poetry, and elsewhere.
Image: Joshua Kettle for Unsplash+
