Fantasia on a Good Old Hymn Any day the Spirit sends could be the one that otherworldly ladder, Jacob’s, touches down like a slant of sunshine through rain. There might be angels ascending, who would make way, or lend a hand, as this time it is my heart, and too many rungs to count. My house recedes below into a village, village to dots on undulant landscape, terrain a mere patch of the quilt. Higher, higher… Did I love enough to be called away up here? Or am I just a child the universe let sit on its lap awhile and listen to stories? Careful not to look down, will I reach the top? Will I find a cloud-swept meadow, understand at last what the larks are saying?
Russell Rowland writes from New Hampshire’s Lakes Region, where he has judged high-school Poetry Out Loud competitions. His work appears in Except for Love: New England Poets Inspired by Donald Hall(Encircle Publications), and “Covid Spring, Vol. 2” (Hobblebush Books). His latest poetry book, Wooden Nutmegs, is available from Encircle Publications.
What a beautiful thought posed as a question: “Will I find a cloud-swept meadow,
understand at last what the larks are saying?”
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