11.20.15 I'll be over there with the maniacs

The darkness of many of our days brings to me 

a kind of welcome rest. 
From the happy bright shiny sunny days. 
From the activity inherent in warm weather.
In the cold, only those who adore the outdoors venture out, 
climb trails and traverse fields, snow up to this-high.
Just to inhale that air, listen to that wind, 

and immerse oneself in it all.
Myself, I'll be with those maniacs.

 

11.20.15 Not too long ago

Not too long ago, I stopped by the side of the road, as dusk approached and the early fall breeze swept all things by the bye. 

As the fragrant yellow blossoms danced about, swaying, as if they were small planets, or vast galaxies, each in movement, each in the vibrant orbit of their own.

11.20.15 All those late nights and delicious times

     I remember the hot sunlight on our faces, as we sat and ate lunch on the front stoop of the huge colonial rental in Montague. My three roommates laughing and telling stories, in the midst of long days, of part time jobs and racing somehow to UMass in a cascade of lousy almost working cars, and then dishes and burning the midnight oil, and then showing one a new song on my guitar, or listening to another after a late night ice car accident on a bridge. To another always about the ex, about the ex, about the ex.

           Til another came and moved in, and we all had a very nice time, even though they complained that I was never there.                                        

          Oh, all the hysterical famous group baths, with candlelight and everyone climbing in and out to take turns, passing plates of food and drink, dancing about with bubbles, putting cigarettes out in the cooling water, having long long conversations about politics and ways and means, and life.

          23,24, that amazing time. Of struggling to take flight. Of learning who you are and are not. Of scraping yourself out of near-really-bad-messes and reapplying yourself, with a newborn zeal borne of fear and yearning, that didn't let up.

         All those late nights and delicious times, learning to be absolutely great on your own, instead of endlessly wanting someone. Of building that structure within your depths, so that no matter what direction your life grew in, you would relish the ride.

11.20.15 Shining there, on your horizon, looking like grace.

Every evening seems like a surprise. As if you'd forgotten all about being a living thing, on a planet. That spins. That holds your feet to the ground. As if you forgot that every moment there are gajillions of sunsets and sunrises all over this globe, never mind all the patillions of planets and stars with their own sunrises and sunsets happening like nuts all over the place, not even with our own little sun. Nope. I forget.

And then I see out of the corner of my eye the beginning of a glory filled one. So I hightail it down the hill, to The Eagle Sanctuary, where I pile out of the car, in my slippers or whatever, and stand there, always in the wind. Hardly ever no wind. Always the Connecticut flowing powerfully right over there, past the farmer fields and trees. Always the sense of enormity.

Of my heart. Of yours. Of your vision of your self or your life that has tiny bits of it panning out, actually. Of the last thing on your mind before you fell asleep last night. Of the complete amazement of waking up once again, and having a day handed to you. All bright and shiney and new, even if you're not.

So yeah, there you are, checking out the sunset surprise today, and there is your consciousness, all around your sweet planet. With all it's confusions and problems and mean stuff and yearnings and hurt feelings and betrayal and

. There it all is. In your tiny corner of the universes. In your face. In your heart. Shining there, on your horizon, looking like grace.

11.20.15 Stark white clouds racing, sun shining bright

I was standing there on the dirt road by High Hadley Fields, buffeted by the winds screaming across the land, pressing into me, into the woods and the stream, and rearing its head as it plummeted toward the range. Stark white clouds racing, the sun shining bright, and the adolescent crows dipping and playing all about, a moment of lightheartedness before the challenges of cold and dark.