The wind arching
and bowing the trees
until it looked as if
they were trying
to sweep the ground.
— Alice Munro, short story "Leaving Maverley"
(New Yorker, 11-28-11)
Showing posts with label Alice Munro. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alice Munro. Show all posts
December 27, 2011
April 19, 2011
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His talk was like
a curtain of easy rain
between me and the trees,
the light and the shadows on the road.
— Alice Munro, "Lying Under the Apple Tree"
(memoir essay from The New Yorker, 2002)
a curtain of easy rain
between me and the trees,
the light and the shadows on the road.
— Alice Munro, "Lying Under the Apple Tree"
(memoir essay from The New Yorker, 2002)
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