To stand still, to be here

We are getting rain, at last, here on the edge of the Ragged Mountains of Virginia. It is hot, muggy, and it feels like places we've been over the years: Louisiana, Florida, Central America, the South Pacific. The summer air is dense with memories of long ago travels.

Our friend Karen from Tennessee, who we met years ago while hiking in France, has sent quite a number of poems lately. Allow me to share this one. She also sent the photo to go with it. May your summer day bring you good memories:

Now I become myself

May Sarton

Now I become myself. It's taken
Time, many years and places,
I have been dissolved and shaken,
Worn other people's faces,
Run madly, as if Time were there,
Terribly old, crying a warning,
"hurry, you will be dead before -----"
(What? Before you reach the morning?
or the end of the poem, is clear?
Or love safe in the walled city?)
Now to stand still, to be here,
Feel my own weight and density!.....
Now there is time and Time is young.
O, in this single hour I live
All of myself and do not move
I, the pursued, who madly ran,
Stand still, stand still, and stop the Sun!