Showing posts from November, 2020


Burnt Umber    All the way to the horizon umber fields unrolling. Ribbed, stubbled, dark but for patches in the hollows where snow persists. Mid-field, brown lumps shift, seem to breathe, resolve into geese. You feel it would take you days to walk to where they are and this makes you yearn to be there this instant though last summer before the grain was fully ripe you’d have given everything, almost, to be nowhere at all. Susan Gillis / from Sheila-Na-Gig Issue 5:2, Winter 2020 Image by Juan Carlos Rodrigues /