A slender book arrived yesterday. In the Blue of Time by Joan Taber.





As fall literally descends on my wooded property, chill and crisp become my morning brace before the first cup of coffee is even poured.

I recently realized that fall is a season of books. Nearly every day this week, a book has arrived on my front stoop. It's the gathering season - and I gather books to sustain me throughout the long winter months.

Below is a sampling of Taber's genius. I already have many favorite poems, but this is the first I read and instantly became a loyal disciple.

Vigil

In the silence after dying,
the voices of our children
float across the sea divide
between time and nowhere else;
and we must learn to listen
to the greening of the leaves,
to the rustle of the silken page;
and we must learn the language
of the sinking cirrus cloud,
its softly rounded vowels
that paint the bluing sky
as mourning becomes our years
and then our turn to die.