Storm clouds

Whenever I see dark clouds, the words come back to me of a poem I learned from my father, while I was still quite young.  He loved his poets, from the world over, but especially those who wrote about this great land of Australia.

Harry Dale the Drover is one of those.

“An hour has filled the heavens with storm clouds inky black”

 

Walking

“How I go to the woods”

Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single
friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore
unsuitable.

I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds
or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of
praying, as you no doubt have yours.

Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit
on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds,
until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost
unhearable sound of the roses singing.

If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love
you very much.”
― Mary Oliver, Swan: Poems and Prose Poems