  across a milky silhouette of house sides and tiny trees— a little village— that ends in a saw edge of mist-covered trees on a sheet of grey sky. To the right, jutting in, a dark crimson corner of roof. To the left, half a tree: —what a blessing it is to see you in the street again, powerful woman, coming with swinging haunches, breasts straight forward, supple shoulders, full arms and strong, soft hands (I’ve felt them) carrying the heavy basket. I might well see you oftener! And for a different reason you bring us so regularly. Yes, you, young as I, with boney brows, kind grey eyes and a kind mouth; you walking out toward me from that dead hillside! I might well see you oftener. |
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