How often when I stop
to look at something in nature
that appears to be quite ordinary,
does it become, on closer inspection, extraordinary --
reason enough, I've decided,
to pause and let nature come to me
rather than continually pursue it.
To sit and be brushed
by a butterfly's wings
is not an experience to disdain.
~ from Appalachian Spring
by Michael Frayn
PORCH SWING IN SEPTEMBER
The porch swing hangs fixed in a morning sun
that bleaches its gray slats, its flowered cushion
whose flowers have faded, like those of summer,
and a small brown spider has hung out her web
on a line between porch post and chain
so that no one may swing without breaking it.
She is saying it's time that the swinging were done with,
time that the creaking and pinging and popping
that sang through the ceiling were past,
time now for the soft vibrations of moths,
the wasp tapping each board for an entrance,
the cool dewdrops to brush from her work
every morning, one world at a time.
— Ted Kooser
from Flying at Night, University of Pittsburgh Press
Poetry Garden
