A year ago this week a friend sent me this poem. It was from the Kentucky @wildsam guide. The poem sat with me in a way poems don’t typically do. I’ve spent the last year framing so many moments here in Kentucky at the farm through the words of Robert Penn Warren, a writer that was originally from Kentucky. This week also marks the year mark since the tornado hit the farm. The words of this have weighed heavy on me as I’ve navigated the year of rebuilding and living alone out on the frontier of the farm. Seasons here very much are marked by nature and this summer the elderberry blooms growing in the fence row by my barn had a bitter taste in my mind every time I saw them. The words of this poem haunted me every time I saw them there, growing in place of the most beautiful spring wild rose. The geese have marked the seasons with their treks in the sky. I don’t remember a lot of this year, but I do remember the seasons change. This week I saw this poem popup in my iPhone memories. I didn’t know until then that only the first stanza was shared with me. The second, one, well it very much changes the tone.