There's a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes

There's a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons-- That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes--

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all.

The dandelion's pallid tube/ Astonishes the grass,/ And winter instantly becomes/ An infinite alas.

At some moment in September when there is an intimation of fall - perhaps a certain slant of light across the browning meadow in the hush of a late afternoon when the wind from the sea has suddenly died-I think of the fiercely independent ruffed grouse, a game bird without peer.

There is winter in L.A., there is rain in L.A. But there is no rain on 'Entourage.'