Postscript - Seamus Heaney

This morning, when I drove through town on my way to work, mists were swirling up over a glassy Whitmore Lake, catching the new sun, burning with light. Swans glided out by the Macs Marina and farther along toward Swanotter, stately, placid. I thought of this Heaney poem:


Be well, my reader, as fall deepens in your city. Love the sun in season, while it lasts.

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