Today: going for an afternoon walk because the sun finally was there. Walking along fields, to that old tree with the bench. Sitting, spinning the poetry wheel, and arriving in: The Park.
For this season there is no name,
Not summer, and none of the months of the year—(Here's the full poem: The Park by Harry Clifton,
A something inside you. Search your mind
For the green arboriferous Word
arrived there via the playful Poetry Foundation App.)
more skies from around the world: skywatch friday