Summer Morning
I know all the dark places
Where the sun hasn't reached yet,
Where the last cricket
Has just hushed,
Slumbering spiders spinning wedding dresses.
The good tree with its voice
Of a mountain stream
Knows my steps.
It, too, hushes.
I stop and listen.
Somewhere close by
A stone cracks a knuckle,
Another turns over in its sleep.
I hear a butterfly stirring
Inside a caterpillar
I hear the dust talking
Of last night's storm.
Farther ahead, someone
Even more silent
Passes over the grass
Without bending it.
And all of a sudden
In the midst of that quiet,
It seems possible
To simply live on this earth.
from Summer Morning
by Charles Simic
Where the sun hasn't reached yet,
Where the last cricket
Has just hushed,
Slumbering spiders spinning wedding dresses.
The good tree with its voice
Of a mountain stream
Knows my steps.
It, too, hushes.
I stop and listen.
Somewhere close by
A stone cracks a knuckle,
Another turns over in its sleep.
I hear a butterfly stirring
Inside a caterpillar
I hear the dust talking
Of last night's storm.
Farther ahead, someone
Even more silent
Passes over the grass
Without bending it.
And all of a sudden
In the midst of that quiet,
It seems possible
To simply live on this earth.
from Summer Morning
by Charles Simic