12.31.14 For the New Year

''''

With the end of the year in mind, and coming rapidly into view,  I walked the darkening Pine Forest, frigid air stiffening fingers and knees. 

As the pup raced and the sunset shone upon the beginnings of frozen waters, I was awash with these things. And here is what answered me:

Here is to you. 
To your comings and your goings
To your stalwart dreams and your early morning awakenings.
To those hopes that may never be realized, 
may their preciousness of what your days have held in the past find your embrace in your coming year.

Here, then, is to your irrefutable strength of spirit,
wisdom of mind, sturdiness of heart, 
resilience of body, and buoyancy of faith.
Let there be light and laughter in your days, 
and restoration and sweet comfort in your nights.

12.29.14 " As a writer, even as a child,"

“As a writer, even as a child,” Joan Didion writes,
 “I developed a sense that meaning itself
 was resident in the rhythms of words 
and sentences and paragraphs, 

a technique for withholding whatever it was 
I thought or believed behind 
"" an increasingly impenetrable polish.”

12.29.14 This Becomes Solace

When stuck in bed, transporting to other places at other times; remembering the cold wind brushing across your face, not a person around, the pup splashing in the waters, and then racing about the shore, as the muscles in your legs experienced that pleasure of use and strain and vital movement of blood, as you meandered into the woods, free from  paths... This becomes solace.l

12.28.14 Old Barn of My Days

The barn was old, quiet. Situated at a forgotten junction. Locked up . A few rolls of hay pressed into the shelter of the indented front area , where, years ago, as I walked from my crappy VW, enormous regal German Shepherd by my side, to my UMass classes; no notion yet of real jobs or birth giving or serious falling in love , I would see the beautiful faces of various horses looking out of their stalls, down the open halls, or being led to places across the then two lane road, to graze or ride or run free. And of course , then , the two of us would stop by, saying hello to every single one. 

But that is over now, the magnificent new facility for the University built as I left the school, as I grew my family, as I grew real jobs of comfort and joy. 

Across from the peeling boarded up building was built another, that mirrors the exquisite form of it's roof, it's structural cavalades; an architect seeing the wisdom behind the original design. 

But that is over now, the magnificent new facility for the University built as I left the school, as I grew my family, as I grew real jobs of comfort and joy. 
Across from the peeling boarded up building was built another, that mirrors the exquisite form of it's roof, it's structural cavalades; an architect seeing the wisdom behind the original design. 

So now we have the elder form, abandoned, and the echo of its beauty, in a complex nearby, that has architecturally gone on to crossbreed with several new buildings and complexes, all small songs from this original , now aged form.

And yet now and again, before they were done with the elegant building ,with its turrets and twirls, cut deeply into hard reddened wood, before I had three-but just one small one, we would come by the morning after our nighttime books with stories of city horses and country horses. 

Not being a horse person, yet a person who loves and yearns to understand all living beings; who was determined to bring my small ones to all sorts of places , and introduce them to learning ease, everywhere at home; 
we would go by the next day , and step into the sweet pungent darkness to say hello to one bright eyed intelligent creature after another , 
the soles of our sneakers silent , as we proffered carrots and stroked silken muzzles 
and murmured those constant quiet phrases just as you do with small people; 
hand in hand, I with my young one, ever inquisitive, going by again and again.
So that now, on a blustery quick-and-chilled November morning, I pull the car over. My children grown. My beloved job left far behind. My body querulous , my time my own. 

I circle the old darling, glancing at the boarded up windows, seeing the quiet lives of the c reddish vines, as they create their own tangled masterpieces now; for now is their time. 

Bright leaf and stem, tangled like a rich hued brocade down the midline of a long forgotten window , 
as it's dusted glass glazes and reflects the light from the overcast day; 
the thrill of the years , as wild vines contrast against the powder blue painted walls someone at sometime chose with delight, 

perhaps not imagining this moment of creation we have before us now . 
The deserted. The let free. The self-determined evocation of life that brings to us great creation, in and of its own yearning , and irrepressible spirit to live where it may.

12.28.14 The Life of a Stand of Birch

So many seasons pass
and this stand of Birch remain
bright in contrast to their
neighbors of Oak and Pine and Maple
a small staccato in the
countenance of the forest
young and gathered together
seeds fallen and rootlings sent forth
all of a season, as siblings they've grown
weathering wet heavy snows and
frigid deep winters nights
their bodies creating seeds for the
next and next year so very
filled with the faith of their world
their neighborhood
spring thrust and unfurling of
tender hearted brightest greenery
summer struggles of heat and drought
the capricious drenching of
late night storms
all of it they live as they
inhale and exhale
life giving
bright against
that which holds them
dear

12.28.14 Away away to the sea

Down by the river a few days ago it was

dark and wet as the grasses shone with

vermillion sprigs dried alongside the

brilliant light green all growing in their

winter ways up next to the

crops in the low fields  as the

river far down from the

raised path swirled and

pressed itself restlessly

away away to the sea

12.27.14 How Many Blessings To Come Your Way

How many blessings to come your way
4,5,7,20
How many times to make your day
4,5,7 and more
Which will pass and which will stay
4,5,7,20
Ever dream; none to fall to clay
4,5,7, and more
Come, settle, center and breathe
4,5,7, 20
Let your life be something more
4,5,7,24

12.27.14 Permitting the germination of human growth

"Diversity may result in some loss of efficiency. 
It will certainly increase the variety of challenges,
but the more important goal is to provide the many kinds of soil
that will permit the germination of the seeds 
now dormant in human's nature. 
Humans innovate and thus fully express their humanness
by responding creatively, even though painfully, 
to stimuli and challenges." - Rene Dubos, 1968

12.27.14 Then, I get back out with my camera, looking about. You know how it is.

After a nice long rest to start the day, and some food shopping to ensure a healthy stocked cupboard, I run in and grab the Shepherd, just as the day is winding to a close.

Down we race to the river beyond us, to the Eagle Sanctuary, to say good night to the day, as the sun blazes orange and pink.

The plan is to drive a few miles to a Hadley side street, with the old grazing greens between streets, to have a quiet stroll down the darkening sidewalks.     

But we pass by the old Food Bank Farm, where the mountain range and the sunset glow in stark relief, and we have to stop for a moment there.

We are just about to the small side streets, when I catch sight of the small road leading down to a little bridge, that is swamped badly each and every time it rains, the riverside farmer fields lying beyond, and pulled a quick left to go on down that way.

There is a farmer who's left his pickup by the dirt road, and walked farther in, checking something, as we follow the small right, and the expanse of farmland, with the row of trees fed by the river along the edge of the sleeping fields, the sunset already in high gear 

I pop my little boy out on his leash, open the driver window, get in, and begin driving ever-so-slowly, watching in front of me (noone) behind me (noone) and then keeping my eye on him, with a constant stream of chatter, as I begin moving the car forward.
We do this now and again, when I am too depleted to walk him in the woods, and he has had no friend romp for awhile. It's like very very carefully, NO MISTAKES, exercising a horse in a ring. He knows how to do it, and listens carefully, as we go.

I begin driving, telling him "Good boy!' "Careful!" "Good boy! That's right!" as the car speeds a bit, and he runs beside me,about 5 feet from the car, smiling, his fur swept behind him. I slow now and then then he gets a bit ahead, calling to him "Oh, Danto. Careful. 

Stay. Stay." And he gets it, pulling back along side the car, keeping pace. Eager to please. Stretching his big big muscles, happy with the pleasure.

We get along the road, turn around, and do it twice more, and as we carefully go, his smile grows bigger and bigger.
Finally, he seems happy and relaxed, and I stop to pop him back into the car, telling him what a good job he did, as he smiles and pants.

Then, I get back out with my camera, looking about.

You know how it is.

~

 The light is shining or the sun rising or the trees waving or leaves falling or sun setting, and you are just stunned. No number of photos would give you the feeling you have truly absorbed the beauty. The wonder of the moment.

There are sunsets and sunrises all over the universe constantly. And each one happens once. Each moment; once. This very moment? Once

I watch the colors shift and shift again, as a flock of Geese begins their call, coming into view slowly, behind the bare winter trees.
Gradually I see them, forming a v, then another, and I wonder what it's like to be them, up in mild winter air, plentiful food, heading into a sunset that looks more unreal every second, and yet, is truly brilliant. Brilliant.

 The Geese fly into the sunset, and beyond, as the air shifts, a small wind comes up, and the clouds billow beyond the trees at the river's edge.

The river road darkens, as orange and pink blast across the land. I am wondering what it looks like to Herons and Coyote and field mice and moths. 

As I turn, and tuck into the car, greet the waiting dog with all his many happy kisses, and we flick on the headlights, to make our way home.