Young and Alive

First two photos by Jaquilyn Shumate Photography.

Pastoral

I copy out mountains, rivers, clouds.

I take my pen from my pocket. I note down

a bird in its rising

or a spider in its little silkworks.

Nothing else crosses my mind. I am air,

clear air, where the wheat is waving,

where a bird's flight moves me, the uncertain

fall of a leaf, the globular

eye of a fish unmoving in the lake,

the statues sailing in the clouds,

the intricate variations of the rain.

Nothing else crosses my mind except
the transparency of summer. I sing only of the wind,
and history passes in its carriage,
collecting its shrouds and medals,
and passes, and all I feel is rivers.
I stay alone with the spring.

 Last two photos via Momfilter.

Shepherd, shepherd, don't you know

they are all waiting for you?

I know, I know, but here beside the water

while the locusts chitter and sparkle,

although they are waiting, I want to wait for myself.

I too want to watch myself.

I want to discover at last my own feelings. 

And when I reach the place where I am waiting, 

I expect to fall asleep, dying of laughter.

-Pablo Neruda