Savoring the late light and the last trickles of river.
Savoring the child.
Savoring the music made early in the morning, in the rush before school. All those lovely notes that are so hard won.
Savoring the flicker of home-dipped candles burning on the altar. Almost out, and the dark nights are just setting in…
…though they say these glowing trees are a lantern to see November by.
Savoring the community that comes out for poetry, the book store that hosts it, the poets that make it.
Savoring these words by Mary Cisper: “Since each occasion is contained in every other, how is this not an orchard?”