My wind chime fell -- the string broke, and before the light had left the afternoon I saw through the window that it had fallen.
I went out in my shoes on the leaves and stones where the ground and broken branches slope down, and I peered and squinted in the cold gray space for the gleam of gold on the brown. I found it against the wall, but crippled: it had lost a delicate metal piece so that, more than ever like me, the wind could hardly make it sing.
The wind blew when I came back in, but I was not tempted to hang the chime again, so it lay crumpled on the table until another time, safe for new string, which slowly decays after days of rain.
No comments:
Post a Comment