verge (vʉrj)
the edge, brink, or margin (of something): also used figuratively the verge of the forest, on the verge of hysteria

to tend or incline (to or toward)
to be in the process of change or transition into something else; pass gradually (into) dawn verging into daylight

Sunday, November 14, 2010


I heard this milkweed pod.  It was worth the hike to get there.  Artie, Biscuit and I walk through this hidden field late in the afternoon.  Here the fields and sky touch each other as if they were two hands folded together, cupping a secret.  I come to hear fall.  Traffic, lawn mowers, and leaf blowers are far away.  We lean into the sound of fall, the sound of wind, of leaves, of grass, of nothing.  Even my dogs sense this.

The magnificence of this spot is its quiet.  Silent sacrament. The colors of the leaves, the substance of bark, and the fabric of field are in concert here.  The black glassy pond is so silent, it's audible.  Milkweed pods are one of the virtuosic highlights of our visit.  Poised in their finest attire, they amplify the wind's presence as they trill and tumble into space towards oblivion.  I am struck by their individuality.  And their sound.  Maybe they make the sound of faith.  They don't know where they are headed...only someplace...but they go.

I don't go to church, but if I did, this is where I would go.  I come to here, this field.  I come to hear...

1 comment:

  1. "The black glassy pond is so silent" ... isn't it splendid when the buzz of swirling subatomic particles can be heard? You should come to my church where ducks in strollers are sometimes in attendance.