May much stay out of our stated plan

Today is a Wednesday in which not very much went according to plan.

But then I got home, and the view from my roof looks like this:



And the guy at the corner store now sells the fizzy water I like best, just for me.

And I found this book of poems chosen by Garrison Keillor for days just like these. Must've picked it up at East Village Books over the summer. He turned me onto some Rexroth. And he gave me this, a poem by Robert Frost about apple trees, called Unharvested:

A scent of ripeness from over a wall.
And come to leave the routine road
And look for what had made me stall,
There sure enough was an apple tree
That had eased itself of its summer load,
And of all but its trivial foliage free,
Now breathed as light as a lady's fan.
For there ad been an apple fall
As complete as the apple had given man.
The ground was one circle of solid red.

May something go always un harvested!
May much stay out of our stated plan,
Apples or something forgotten and left,
So smelling their sweetness would be no theft.