Two tomatoes on a Maine window sill, Paint-chipped, back-lit with morning filtered Through firs huddled on a low coastal hill, Makes me think for a moment that this Is all I need to be happy and still, That this is what it takes to slow down. But I remember E.B. White lived here— To get away from New York, hustling— And could never stop seeing what is wrong With people who delight to be cruel, Even seeing more and more what was right With animals, vegetables, the world On its axis whirling through the cold dark, With radiant nurture for all its kin.
I like the full circle realization that the same lovely environment didn't stop White from contemplating hard realities. Thank you for sharing.