#the changing light

[redrcs]

The light changes #14.

Ludlows Reserve, Wodonga

[missedstations]

“The Changing Light” - Lawrence Ferlinghetti

The changing light at San Francisco                        is none of your East Coast light                                         none of your                                                                pearly light of Paris The light of San Francisco                                               is a sea light                                                                     an island light And the light of fog                                   blanketing the hills                       drifting in at night                                     through the Golden Gate                                                          to lie on the city at dawn And then the halcyon late mornings                 after the fog burns off                         and the sun paints white houses                                                          with the sea light of Greece                               with sharp clean shadows                                      making the town look like                                                    it had just been painted

But the wind comes up at four o’clock

                                                                   sweeping the hills

And then the veil of light of early evening

And then another scrim                                when the new night fog                                                                          floats in And in that vale of light                                           the city drifts                                                                    anchorless upon the ocean

[quotes-for-the-soul]

The changing light                   at San Francisco       is none of your East Coast light            none of your                  pearly lights of Paris The light of San Francisco                  is a sea light                             an island light And the light of fog                    blanketing the hills              drifting in at night                  through the Golden Gate                             to lie on the city at dawn And then the halcyon late mornings                  after the fog burns off                    and the sun paints white houses                               with the sea light of Greece                 with sharp clean shadows                          making the town look like                          it had just been painted But the wind comes up at four o'clock                            sweeping the  hills And then the veil of light of early evening And then another scrim                    when the new night fog                           floats in And in that vale of light                  the city drifts                         anchorless upon the ocean

“The Changing Light” by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, from Good Poems for Hard Times, selected and introduced by Garrison Keillor

[angrybeardentertainment-blog]

Our next show at THE BUG JAR! Moonstriker & The Changing Light Local support: Alberto Alaska, Inneriot and Wisdom Kids $6 // $8 8:00pm doors

[crimsonandcloversx]

Visit Original Link

Follow them here as well if you like there stuff: http://thechanginglight.tumblr.com/

[onedayonepoem-blog]

The Changing Light

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

The changing light             at San Francisco     is none of your East Coast light            none of your                    pearly light of Paris The light of San Francisco              is a sea light                        an island light And the light of fog         blanketing the hills     drifting in at night            through the Golden Gate                       to lie on the city at dawn And then the halcyon late mornings     after the fog burns off       and the sun paints white houses                      with the sea light of Greece       with sharp clean shadows        making the town look like                              it had just been painted But the wind comes up at four o'clock                                     sweeping the hills And then the veil of light of early evening And then another scrim            when the new night fog                             floats in And in that vale of light                    the city drifts                            anchorless upon the ocean