In this ancient stretch
our lives blink,
as the lace of snow.
richly buried in
a watered fern,
a river rock
in the ground,
muscle and bone.
of my hands.
Few things bring me as much pleasure as waking up wrapped around the same woman, day after day after month and year. She is my pole star and my rock, my reality check and my down comforter. Not much ever distracts from my daily dawn awakening thought: She is there and Life is good.
Four years ago, I said, “I do” to her, and she to me. No big show, just a nod to our commitment to travel the road together. Fortunately, the “road” has proven not to be a super-highway, but rather a wandering path, through places both fascinating and surreal. I can’t wait to travel the next four years with her—and so on.
These are my blessings.
I have always been a lover of darkness.
This began in my childhood when I used to head for
the little evergreen forest
at the end of the farm pond, just as the sun was setting.
The little forest offered cool dark shade,
even during the heat of the brightest day.
It was delicious to be there in the darkness,
even better when a pale dust of moonlight filtered
through the slender needles
and sparkled upon my skin.
As the day settled into night,
the moist coolness of all of that greenery
exhaled a soft mist over the pond.
I could not ignore its invitation.
Little frogs made music from the rocks along the shore.
Their songs became soft watery plops as I passed them.
In the west, where the last vestige of day
was nestling into the horizon,
there were long skeins of green corn,
their tasseled stalks back-lit just for an instant
as the sun winked out.
Since those days of childhood,
my heart has worshiped
starlight through evergreen.
Even now, I love to walk outside in the evening,
arm in arm with my love,
while the border collies empty their bladders for the night.
I love to look straight up into the sky.
The darkness there settles me.
It soothes me to breathe it in.
Sometimes it feels too big to swallow.
In the spring, everyone rejoices
as the hours of daylight
lengthen and the sun draws nearer,
and I do not disagree,
but my eyes get tired of the over-bright sun.
I begin to feel weary at the end of the brilliant day,
as if I dare not rest
but should be ever more productive.
The cool quiet of evening dark calls me out.
I love to walk in it,
to discover that it is not
really all that dark
but lit by chips of star and a pearly moon.
In this way it resembles silence,
which is not really what
we expect it to be.
The dark invites invisibility.
It tends to the senses which do not require light.
I have always said that
I am a root vegetable,
in love with the darkness.