The Porch

This went on yesterday for two long sessions I viewed

through the big windows on the south side of the house.

The bucks didn't seem really serious; it was more like sparring or practice. 

I took about a gazillion pictures. Since they moved around 

and the light and backgrounds kept changing,

I have many images now to play with.
On this one, I cropped to a square and
then clicked the "I'm feeling lucky" button
in Picasa, which made something wonderful 
happen to the nondescript grasses in the meadow.
Best luck I've had in a long time!

The Porch

The porch whose doors face the west

Has large windows. The sun warms it well.

From here you can see north, south, east and west.

Forests and rivers, fields and tree-lined lanes.

When the oaks array themselves in green

And the linden's shade reaches the flower bed,

The world disappears behind the blue bark,

Engraved by leaves into motley patches.

Here, at a tiny table, brother and sister

Kneel, drawing scenes of battle and pursuit.

And with their pink tongues try to help

Great warships, one of which is sinking.

Czeslaw Milosz

This is one of a group of early poems 

called The World, some of which appear in
New and Collected POEMS (1931-2001) Ecco, 2001, page 38.

Three straightforward four-line stanzas, which clearly bring back a world and a vanished way of life. Now I am thinking of our front porch on First Street in Scotia, NewYork-- and of the bittersweet my mother grew there for its autumnal orange berries.