At Fourth and Main in Liberal, Kansas, 1932
(Written August 27, 1993)
An instant sprang at me, a winter instant,
a thin gray panel of evening. Slanted
shadows leaned from a line of trees where rain
had slicked the sidewalk. No one was there–
it was only a quick flash of a scene,
unplanned, without any connection to anything
that meant more than itself, but I carried it
onward like a gift from a child who knows
that the giving is what is important, the paper, the ribbon,
the holding of breath and surprise, the friends around,
and God holding it out to you, even a rock
or a slice of evening, and behind it the whole world.
– William Stafford –
Written on the day before his death
Photo by Gary Ellis on Unsplash
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