There was a branch
Was in a bush was in a night was in
What became parcelled in my careless skin.
Colours went by
As shades of colours and a rose tree was
Where space must thicken and where time must pause.
By the roadside
A water made away with itself and stayed.
Only by it was silence disarrayed.
And silence, by
That sweet dishevelling made lovelier,
Fell silent all the more and would not stir.
The man going by,
As though a mind were an informing grace,
Put on the being of that common place.
He was therefore
Enriched by bank and wall and, there, beyond,
A star being glow-worm on a bracken frond.
And structures rose
Into a future that is now where these
Long buried things are present histories.
~ Brackloch by Norman MacCaig (Scottish, 1910-1996)
Image: October 29, 1953, New York, NY by Vivian Maier