Poetry

Vagaries and Venison

I see mountains, valleys, trees
surrounding us through centuries—
centuries that come and go,
some fast, some slow,
but leave us marked,
thoughts caught in tow—

as September speeds
towards harvest vagaries,
opulent colours dress
nature’s draperies.

We will sing and dance
as daylight settles low,
remember youth
of long ago—

a crossword puzzle,
wine from hills where
mad Etruscans once,
mounted high on mares,
bounced through the air
in pursuit of venison—

it fills our glass,
and we become
one with the sunset,
with everyone—

September 24, 2026

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The Conversation

Dare

Now to Our Own

Nun zu den Unseren