Now’s a good time, before the night comes on,
To praise the loyalty of the vase of flowers
Gracing the parlor table, and the bowl of oranges,
And the book with freckled pages resting on the tablecloth.
To remark how these items aren’t conspiring
To pack their bags and move to a place
Where stillness appears to more advantage.
No plan for a heaven above, beyond, or within,
Whose ever-blooming bushes are rustling
In a sea breeze at this very moment.
These things are focusing all their attention
On holding fast as time washes around them.
The flowers in the vase won’t come again.
The page of the book beside it, the edge turned down,
Will never be read again for the first time.
The light from the window’s angled.
The sun’s moving on. That’s why the people
Who live in the house are missing.
They’re all outside enjoying the light that’s left them.
Lucky for them to find when they return
These silent things just as they were.
Night’s coming on and they haven’t been frightened off.
They haven’t once dreamed of going anywhere.
~Carl Dennis, “Still Life” from Ranking the Wishes

The transformation of objects in space,
or objects in time,
To objects outside either, but tactile, still precise…
It’s always the same problem –
Nothing’s more abstract, more unreal,
than what we actually see.
The job is to make it otherwise.
~Charles Wright from “Basic Dialogue” in Appalachia

Let us treasure the Light that is left to us, to dwell outside in its midst as night is coming.

Meanwhile, a still life exists within, unchanging, real, tangible, not going anywhere.

Stillness is always there if we decide to come in as the dark descends.