Thanks to the ubiquitous
suburban aversion to rake,
which I take to be a sub-function
of an associated suspicion re: work,
one now can see it in meatspace—
as I think the new term is for “real”—
most days, even in rain: the rise,
as browning, skeletal, blood once
red even or golden over leaves just up,
lifted angelic, or anyway, lively by
how could they know what?
Originally published in The North American Anglican, 2023-03-04.
