Saturday Poem

An August Afternoon

An August afternoon. Even here is heard
the rush of the glittering Raba.
We look at the mountain,
my mother and I. How clear the air is:
every dark spruce on Mount Lubon
is seen distinctly as if it grew in our garden.
An astonishing phenomenon—it astonishes my mother
and me. I am four and I do not know
what it means to be four. I am
happy: I don’t know what to be means
or happiness. I know my mother
sees and feels what I do. And I know
that as always in the evening
we will take a walk
far, up to the woods, already before

by Bronislaw Maj
A Book of Luminous Things
edited by Czeslaw Milosz
Harcourt Brace, 1996