One morning you discover with dismay that your personal topography has acquired wrinkles. Attempting to dismiss the shock, you turn to the news—only to learn that the senator of your trust is turned wormy. But then you happily recall that today is the day of all celestial days: the winter solstice. So, perhaps you go for a triumphant tramp through the snow. If it were summer, of course, you would find solace by tending your flowers or walking the dog. Another time you might even delight to stroll in the rain or through the woods on a moon-white night, recalling as you go the habits and words of loved ones. At any time, you take joy in birds and birdhouses, squirrels and dogs, ponds and trees, worms and frogs. In short, you receive pleasure, occasional perplexity, and sometimes distress from the world before your eyes. Such times prepare you to enjoy at least some of these poems. Here the author looks on the landscape of his home, country, and heart. He views what he sees with joy and faith, occasional pinches of humor and cynicism, moments of poignance—and a steady eye on truth.
