Sunday, October 26, 2008


When Time Is Ripe

Down the familiar road each rut
is a revelation
full of its secrets.
As when time is ripe each day
there is something to be understood
which cannot be understood

A leaf lifts from its branch
and falls red and gold
at a message of weather
a wind with an edge.

And that is never the end. Repeatedly
new things happen. Time ripens
again and again.

The fruit fills
and numbers of birds gather,
flights mapped in their systems, their wings
imprinted with certainties
telling them summer will follow.
It is all predictable
and surprising, the weather’s direction
the rut and the wrinkling pod
the sun-mapped wings of the robin.

Ellen Murphy, CSJ


A book of Ellen Murphy's poetry will be published next month. Stay tuned for details.

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