Thanksgiving
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“I don’t think poetry lives on the flat page…any more than music lives in the notation. I think a poem has to be breathed into the air – it has to kind of shimmer into being as sound exchanged in the one atmosphere between people.” Malcolm Guite, from “A Spell in the Studio with Phil
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I began this poem years ago when my eldest son (now 23!) was much younger. I didn’t note the date on the typed copy I recently found, but I still distinctly remember him saying that the “world is a museum of leaves” as he surveyed the autumnal landscape. That phrase has stuck with me through
the deepening ground 