A shout-out to everyone who writes letters and carries postage stamps with them; To all who pick up an instrument and make music where others can hear it, no Bluetooth speaker required; To the weirdos with watercolors sitting for an hour to admire a city street or a tree or a moth; To people gathering sticks, or splitting wood by hand, and burning only what they need to burn; To the kids jumping from rocks into the plunge-pool in the Catskills; To greasy hands and scarred fingers looking up at the beater on the lift, or jacked up on the garage floor; If you’re watching the wind with a hand on the tiller or both hands on the paddle; Or if you’re watching the children roll on the grass and bending birches; To those of you sitting still, needle in hand, not rushing the evening on; Friendly greetings to you, and to all of you picking berries, and watching the apples turn red and the beans on the vine turn brown, and gathering seeds.

Green vine leaves are climbing and wrapping around a black metal grid against a cloudy sky.