October 26, 2008
SNOW GEESE
in the morning i hear the snow geese fly over
as i drive to work
sometimes i see them on the grass at the park
picking at the soil
once, i saw them flying in a unbalanced right V
with a snowy Sierra Nevada background
i thought it was gift from God
that flight
October 26, 2008
JAZZY TRAIL
feel the jazzy wind lift me along
the trail with a hop in my step
arms wrapped around mother
dancing a step familiar to me
since the day i found the
way of the woods
more intoxicating than a
bottle of red wine with friends
i go into the harmony of human
nature
October 22, 2008
“When I watch a fire, sometimes I think wood was meant to be burned.”
-Javier
It has been six moons since my dear friend set to words the poetry we were watching while eating chicken tacos at a cantina. A local woman was cooking a large pot of soup over an open fire on a clay, earth oven that afternoon.
Those words have remained with me, especially coming to my consciousness when I am sitting by a campfire in the forest.
I hiked a portion of the Appalachian Trail the other week with two old friends. We were on our winter hike, an overnight outing consisting of eighteen miles of laughter, sore toes, and bacon fried in maple syrup.
We set up camp around 3:30 p.m. in a place we named “Pinos Escondidos”—Hidden Pines. The trees, ranging from five to eight feet in height, covered the forest floor like a blanket of sleeping dwarves. Just off the trail, there lied a small clearing amongst the dwarves.
“Looks great.”
“Will block the wind.”
“Just have to move the downed branches and clean up a little.”
“Camp.”
By nightfall we had a gentle, pine fire warming our chilled bodies. The air temperature was about twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit. A half moon gave rise over the taller adult pines.
“Never travel alone,” is the lesson of Jack London’s Dionyssian tale To Build A Fire. The story tells of Tom Vincent’s tragedy while traveling in the Yukon by himself. He builds a fire to ward off frostbite after falling through the ice of a small creek. As the fire builds, the snow-covered pine boughs above, disturbed by Tom while collecting twigs to add to the fire, become unbalanced, thus causing an avalanche-affect of snow to fall onto the fire below.
I remember the first time I read To Build A Fire. It disturbed me. A bit haunting, it was. When not prepared, nature seemed to be harsh on humankind. The elements were raw and uncivilized. There was no place for them amongst our .com world, excluding pending death. I stared blankly ahead, and then a smile came to my face. “A brutal lesson it was,” I thought. “But one young Tom will soon not forget.”
That night around the fire at camp “Pinos Escondidos” we talked of London’s story. We watched tongues of blue and orange lick their way around the logs. Hot embers breathed fire from the belly of the rock hearth. The pines, naked of snow, softly caressed the surrounding blackness.
“Fire was meant to be burned,” contemplated Javier. Around the campfire on a cold January night, it was truth. We understood his revelation.
Burning wood is beautiful. The colors, the heat, the fuel energy…all combine to make it a living organism. It is alive.
Fire is alive.
(written 19 September 2001)
October 22, 2008
Memories of working the foundry on hot summer days with his cousin. Sweated and cussed their way through the day. Punch the clock to freedom.
Grinding the grind, opportunity’s wheels seemingly turning over at the bank teller’s counter. They took their price and paid their way to campfires and jumping off the dam at midnight. Two young Americans sold a dream they believed in.
Water dripping from their smiles, a sliver of moon and friends stood witness to youth. Water black as the surrounding shorelines ran over their feet. Conewago was its name.
The future was far off. No idea of its proximity, its closeness, ever entered their consciousness. The sunrise was not even considered.
Later, asleep in their tents, the fire outside smoldered away. Now passed by them.
But not to be outdone by other memories shared by him and his cousin.
Once, they found themselves in tuxedos at a local bar. Family members laughed and mocked as the two danced to the current hits on an empty dance floor. The wedding day of a brother and cousin had continued on in their book.
Carefree maybe was the name of the dance they were doing. Or maybe it was La Macarana, the Cabbage Patch, or something like that. Whatever. It did not matter to them.
The disco ball shined glitter colors on their smiles as bass lines pounded the floor and walls. They never missed a beat.
Then there was the fro, mishma and his cousin wearing John Lennon glasses. Coming back from a pow-wow. How they both loved Native American culture and spirituality.
The back seat rider was soon off to the Air Force. Summer was cut short a little early that year. Still, a smile beamed in the rearview mirror, putting a smile on the driver’s face as well.
Two wedding days of their own. Two grooms. Two best men. Inseparable. Toasts from hearts were given, despite their mutual discomfort with public speaking.
They danced again and again to a tune only they could hear. The DJ’s selections did not matter. On and on, music imbibing their souls. They smiled from the inside place neither of them could touch.
Soon off to Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Turkey and other points Middle East, one of them. The other off to Honduras, and then California. Emails sent. Shared life on an electronic page.
Times changed. Responsibilities they did not see back at the dam happened. Worries. Concerns. They were not getting young again, like they used to do.
Jokingly, they wished for one more day at that foundry. Quickly, they scratched that rose-colored dream and wished to be atop that dam on a summer night. On tip toes poised to jump. A same ole different Conewago flowing over their feet.
No sight of tomorrow’s sunrise was allowed in their dream. No sight of the water below. No sight of the surrounding darkness. They wanted to go back.
They did.
They looked inward to find outward, as they had always done before. Their smiles hit the water first. They decided to dive right in, as opposed to going feet first like in their younger days.
October 21, 2008
A moon filled with shine beams in our sky this night, the twenty-fourth of April in the year two thousand and five. Round pale yellow-to-white slides over the earth, if we allow ourselves to believe in our child’s dream.
Maybe before-summer dew will gather on a blade of warmth-invigorated grass. And an owl will wizen us to go into the night, and seek to know the darkness.
**************
To go in the dark with a light is to know the light./
To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,/
and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,/
and is traveled by dark feet and wings./
“To Know the Dark”
Wendell Berry
**************
If the light of the world professed by the prophets is belief in a God, does living with a belief in a God in a world that is filled with darkness hinder your cognizance of knowing the darkness?
Are you able to see “blooms and sings” of darkness? Or do you look at the darkness and find not the light?
Are you seeing the light only?
**************
Mother moon looking down upon us, humanity, casts a light making safer our passage into the dark, though not without travail. The tree in the full moon night casts a shadow that stretches long and narrow.
We can walk over the stretching, our accumulated steps small. Or we can walk along the shadow’s length, adding up steps.
*************
Do we hope that the sky will be clear so that we may witness a full moon? And if we do stand witness, do we desire to testify its beautiful fullness? Is its fullness defined by looking up, or is better defined by looking around?
Do we not care one way or another if the sky is clear?
*******************
Trees bloom tonight and crickets and frogs sing. Field mice scurry and bats take flight. Women, men, and children living in darkness around the world understand the knowing of their existence.
The light is their hope, not their comfort. They bed down each night in the shadows, the long, stretching shadows that we walk over in a few short steps.
