12.31.2002
In Response to a Question
The earth says have a place, be what that place
requires; hear the sound the birds imply
and see as deep as ridges go behind
each other. (Some people call their scenery flat,
their only picture framed by what they know:
I think around them rise a riches and a loss
too equal for their chart--but absolutely tall.)
The earth says every summer have a ranch
that's minimum: one tree, one well, a landscape
that proclaims a universe--sermon
of the hills, hallelujah mountain,
highway guided by the way the world is tilted,
reduplication of mirage, flat evening:
a kind of ritual for the wavering.
The earth says where you live wear the kind
of color that your life is (gray shirt for me)
and by listening with the same bowed head that sings
draw all into one song, join
the sparrow on the lawn, and row that easy
way, the rage without met by the wings
within that guide you anywhere the wind blows.
Listening, I think that's what the earth says.
--William Stafford
Stories That Could Be True
posted by Lisa Thompson on 4:00 PM link | comments []
12.30.2002
We've had a bit of a break between storms, but it looks as though another one is heading in today. It's just begun to drizzle.
Saturday en route to town to pick up some cheeses I was forced to pull to the side of the road. The rain came in a biblical torrent and blinded me. A ten-minute downpour had the streets flooded, waterfalls roaring, ditches running madly towards creeks and streams.
Just before that storm hit I had been to the beach and stood out on the end of the pier to get as close to the middle of the bay as possible. I felt that I really could be blown into the water. Gulls struggled upwind, deep wingbeats gaining them ground, then beautifully turning into the wind for a thrilling, northward downwind ride. Oh, to be a bird for a moment like that. There is an impossibly free moment in a hang-glider when you run off a mountain, or step off a cliff and you first feel the wind take your wings. You can feel your body loose itself from the earth's pull. The elation is unforgettable. I'd imagine that after the first few fledgling attempts, a bird's flight would become routine. But I like to think that on these high-wind days flying still holds some thrills for birds brave enough to let go their branches.
posted by Lisa Thompson on 11:18 AM link | comments []
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