Evening at the edge, into the wind,
Sleep with the drapes blowing into the room,
A day's drive north, the perilous flow,
Tires at last on the driveway stones,
The quiet assurances of home,
Away from the surf and the road,
Evening at the seam of the seasons,
The cabin porch, the frozen fog,
The old oak rocker in nightfall,
The beauty in things.
—"No beauty but in things." William Carlos Williams
