Here’s a poem that seems more beautiful to me every time I read it.

It’s a lyrical hymn to the passing of summer, to people known and unknown to us who have passed this way — and to the mystical connection we have with all of them because we can feel what they felt in “this hour along the valley” and in “this light at the end of summer.”

It’s a poem to be read aloud, and slowly, a poem to be felt even more than understood, as one might feel a song…

Season
by W.S. Merwin

This hour along the valley this light at the end
of summer lengthening as it begins to go
this whisper in the tawny grass this feather floating
in the air this house of half a life or so
this blue door open to the lingering sun this stillness
echoing from the rooms like an unfinished sound

(Excerpted from The Vixen. Read the full poem here.)

(W.S. Merwin received the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in both 1971 and 2009 and served as U.S. Poet Laureate in 2010-2011.)