Throughout the year, I gather windfall as I walk around the property, where in the forest area the amount of fallen branches covering the ground can be significant. Sometimes it seems, as soon as I clear one area, more deadwood appears. I have learned to accept unpredictability as part of the way of life I have chosen here along the edge of wilderness.
I take my gatherings to two collection places: first, near the large fire pit with a concrete bottom, metal and stone surround; second, next to a fire bowl given to me by my daughter. This second place also has a metal rack holding dropped cones I collect from two pine trees on the property.
Recent perambulations caused me to conclude that the second collection area was getting overloaded with firewood and cones. It’s time, I decided, to burn the sagging piles, and there had been a good rain, recently, to make it safe. A nearby water source is ready with hose. In my mind, I was already locating a pair of heavy duty gloves, a shovel and other tools.
Today is the day, I think. Yet my plans get sidetracked as I drink my morning tea. I am watching a 1988 conversation between Bill Moyers and Joseph Campbell. The author of The Power of Myth shares a quote:
The best things in life can’t be talked about. The second best thing is misunderstood. The third best thing is what we talk about.
Intrigued, this quote causes me to reflect on why my teacher was so insistent in his encouragement of my life as a writer. Poetry especially, I have noticed, is a process daring to bridge that which can’t be talked about with what is often misunderstood.
The conversation I am watching and hearing causes me to put my other plans on hold. I feel inspired to continue working on my most recent poem which reflects my yearning to express the inexpressible.
Traveling Song for the New Year
Driving north, I hear a song
dancing up the sushumna
like a sudden heat of sun and more.
Once again, I must remember
what to do with brake and pedal
when my head opens to the sky.
I remind myself rapture is natural,
here, beyond narrative,
beyond the drama of destination
I take myself 70 miles per hour
through a fearless wind
towards the unknown.