|
Beyond an ancient battered barn
and a snow-smothered pasture on a
biting, bitter Wisconsin winter’s night,
a modest moon rose out of marsh grass
and aspens and soon pushed immodestly
into tangles of grape vines and leafless oak.
Its rapid rise astonished a certain shivering
photographer and sent him scampering for
shelter, to save his fingers from frostbite.
♦
|
