A Chronic Condition
Berkeley did not foresee such misty weather,
Nor centuries of light
Intend so dim a day. Swaddled together
In separateness, the trees
Persist or not beyond the gray-white
Palings of the air. Gone
Are whatever wings bothered the lighted leaves
When leaves there were. Are all
The sparrows fallen? I can hardly hear
My memory of those bees
Who only lately mesmerized the lawn.
Now, something, blaze! A fear
Swaddles me now that Hylas' tree will fall
Where no eye lights and grieves,
Will fall to nothing and without a sound.
I sway and lean above the vanished ground.
– Richard Wilbur (American poet, b 1921)
Incidentally, "Hylas' tree" in this poem is a reference to Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous, a book written by the philosopher George Berkeley in 1713. I wonder if the "chronic condition" of the title is in fact existence, itself. It does seem be a bit chronic.
[daily log: walking, 5.5 km]