Solitude

I would like to be lonely now,

to wonder what it all meant; 

to sift the hoard, slowly.

You do these things alone 

on days that are gray or blue,

under trees that are bare 

or still raining their leaves—

if you catch one 

still in the air,

a leaf that would never touch ground 

‘til the questions are answered

and the pages are full. 

                                         Cheryl Emerson

11/9/2013



Carl Sandburg's chair,
Flat Rock, North Carolina