Outdoor Advent Day 14

A broken and rusted metal gate with a Road Closed sign on it gapes open over a ground littered with leaves, fallen trees and grass and, most crucially, absolutely no roadway at all. Not even a path is visible, just undergrowth and trees.

This photo has such 2020 vibes I’m not sure if there’s really much more to say.

Other than that I have been reading Margaret Atwood’s new poetry book Dearly and fallen in love with this particular poem which elicits, from me, the same feeling as this photo and this year:

Sad Utensils

The pen reft of the hand,
the knife ditto.
The cello reft of the bow.
The word reft of the speaker
and visa versa.

The word reft
who says that any more?
Yet it was honed, like all words,
in the mouths of hundreds, of thousands,
rolled like a sandstone over and over,
sharpened by the now dead
until it reached this form:
a cloth ripped asunder.
Asunder–minor sunset,
peach clouds faded to slate:
another loss.

And what to do with these binoculars,
sixty years old or more,
reft of their war?

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