Because it is Election Day. And because in my family we are still waiting, midwives to sorrow. Jane Kenyon herself, died too young, but left behind shreds of beauty and we find this here:

Let Evening Come Let the light of late afternoon shine through chinks in the bar, moving up the bales as the sun moves down. Let the cricket take up chafing as a woman takes up her needles and her yarn. Let evening come. Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned in long grass. Let the stars appear and the moon disclose her silver horn. Let the fox go back to it sandy den. Let the wind die down. Let the shed go black inside. Let evening come. To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop in the oats, to the air in the lung, let evening come. Let it come as it will, and don’t be afraid. God does not leave us comfortless, so let evening come.