At times, my own words fail me.  I fall silent.  I stand in awe; I cringe in pain; I gape in horror; I gasp in delight.  When feelings momentarily grip me with such ferocity that I cannot speak, I turn to the words of a kindred spirit from my native city.  Tonight brought such a moment. 

Oh, my sister!  I hear your voice.  Your song is my song.

It’s the nineteenth day of the one-hundred and ninth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

Sunset: St. Louis
by
Sara Teasdale

Hushed in the smoky haze of summer sunset,
When I came home again from far-off places,
How many times I saw my western city
Dream by her river.
Then for an hour the water wore a mantle
Of tawny gold and mauve and misted turquoise
Under the tall and darkened arches bearing
Gray, high-flung bridges.
Against the sunset, water-towers and steeples
Flickered with fire up the slope to westward,
And old warehouses poured their purple shadows
Across the levee.
High over them the black train swept with thunder,
Cleaving the city, leaving far beneath it
Wharf-boats moored beside the old side-wheelers
Resting in twilight.

Pictures taken near the San Joaquin in the Sacramento Delta, sunset, 19 January 2023.  

All pictures copyright M. Corinne Corley 2023,