Like riding a rusty whetstone: you pedal fast, the round stone chirring in frayed summer heat. Then, when you slide your thumb along the blade edge, leaves are falling in their wary beauty. Everyone knows it’s the most nuanced month, cycling between bronze and iron, ochre and dun. This way it always surprises, never disappoints, … Continue reading October
by Diane Scholl
It isn’t so much the Proclamation as the whiff of hope, night worrying bare branches and rooftops, nibbling the contours of a tired city. They gather in their churches, studs and rafters taut with promise that is not a promise. Someone begins to sing the hours toward midnight, stokes a fire, paces the wide-planked floor. … Continue reading Watch Night, 1862
by Diane Scholl
They take possession of the wet spring with their arresting fragrance, above the rock blue sky so startling in May’s chilly air. Swimming against the current, they lift their heads to own the world. I stand still at the threshold and open my arms. Let me take no other nourishment but sweet. Let me, like … Continue reading Lilacs
by Diane Scholl
