I heard Charles Simic’s “The North” this morning
on the Writer’s Almanac
). At first I thought it was funny, especially for someone like me, who lives in “the North” (though I’m sure most Canadians would disagree
). But as Garrison continued to read I grew a little homesick until the final stanza hit me:
The North always the place of punishment.
Deep snow. Blue-veined trees and bushes
Rising against the pink-colored morning sky
So that briefly, in that one spell,
Your heartache hushes at the beauty of it.
It’s not for everyone, but it is for me. I’ll be home tomorrow.
Remnants of rain remained
clouds shrouding hills to the north.
pink behind bluish-gray
the day rolled over in its sleep
a bleary-eyed dawn.
Birds call to each other in what passes for quiet by the side of the highway.