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I:
Curtain of fog
rolling back,
Walden uncovered
for another day,
a dark grey glass,
fringed by trees,
the sky switch
thrown,
as the theater of
nature re-opens,
glowing against
the dissolving dark.
II:
When we came to
sit on the water’s
edge,
the fog began to flee
like a retreating
army,
or a shy boy
at a family
gathering.
III:
At the best show in
town,
the fog curtain
lifts, as the spotlights
come up:
“Ladies and gentlemen
...Walden Pond!”
IV:
Sept. 17, 6:30 am
Walden serves up
a cold slap in
the face,
and I hear Thoreau
shouting from the
opposite shore-
“Halloo there! Get busy
living! The morning
is the heroic age!”
V:
As I swim with
my students,
6:30 am, in holy
waters of Walden,
I thought of others, fine week last spring,
sitting, 13 hours, MCAS exams,
and I wept a pond full,
until golden autumn sun
burned away all “curriculum
frameworks”
with the morning mist.
September 17, 1998