Evening Dance

Here is the place where loveliness keeps house.

Between the river and the wooded hills.

Here you may meet with beauty. 

Here she sits gazing upon the moon,

or all the day tuning a wood-thrush flute,

remote, unseen;

 When the storm is out,

it is she who flits from rock to rock,

a form of flying spray,

shouting, beneath the leave's tumultuous green.

Madison Cawein 1867- 1914

Photos, Lisa Porter

From the book, A Taste of the Sweet Apple

by Joanna Holt Watson