Assisi

I've never been to Assisi, but this poem speaks to any heart that has lost its fear.

Fragment from Assisi

Because I heard the cockerel’s golden cry
Ring from the bottom of the silver olive glade,
Because he called the chapter of the noonday sun,
I shed the shackles my own hands had made.
Because the towers up and down the hill
Fired like beacons answering when they tolled the time,
Driving the white wrack of the winter orchard smoke,
I lost my fear between that chill and chime.

—Meredith Wise

There's more to enjoy at this month's issue of Dappled Things.