Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Another poem -- Nancy Wood

My help is in the mountains
Where I take myself to heal
The earthly wounds
That people give to me.

I find a rock with sun on it

And a stream where the water runs gentle

And the trees which one by one give me company

So must I stay for a long time

Until I have grown from the rock

And the stream is running through me

And I cannot tell myself from one tall tree.

Then I know that nothing touches me

Nor makes me run away.

My help is in the mountain
That I take away with me.

Earth cure me. Earth receive me. Rock strengthen me. Rock receive my weakness. Rain wash my sadness away. Rain receive my doubt. Sun make sweet my song. Sun receive the anger from my heart.

-- Nancy Wood

Sunday, January 1, 2017

Here We Go Again

Struggling to stay awake as I write after two days of eating and hiking, the former definitely to excess and the latter arguably beyond the behavior of rational humanity.

In fairness -- as is the rule at Barbara Cook and John Kittridge's house, we celebrated the arrival of the first midnight of the New Year somewhere between the Cape Verde Islands and Rio de Janiero -- about 8:30 pm ET. and found our beds by 10 pm.  Very sober (umm, well ...) and rational.

To keep up appearances, though, we rose at 5, drove to and scrambled up a hill (Sugarloaf Mountain) to welcome the first sunrise with poetry and prayer, and then hiked a bit further before returning to shower and head off to another potluck event. Urp.

A positive note -- one guest at the first party brought wheat tortillas from Tucson! They were greatly appreciated.

Another positive note -- this poem by May Sarton, published in Garrison Keillor's Writers Almanac. A teaser:

Let us step outside for a moment
Among ocean, clouds, a white field,
Islands floating in the distance.
They have always been there.
But we have not been there.

Happy New Year, everyone! For me, it may be a year of doing familiar things on new roads -- protecting the Constitution against all enemies (especially domestic), and hiking a few hundred more miles of the AT to ease the emotions that come with nonviolent intervention in such matters.

And then, possibly, one thing I may do only once in my life; I plan to visit Carbondale, Illinois, on August 21. There's something special going on there, hotel rooms are already almost booked out.

One never knows, though. We can make our plans, but we also must live each day as we greet it.