Spring and the Corona Lunacy
Sunday gratefuls: 25 days of physical distancing. Flattening the curve. Beau Jo’s pizza. Rigel’s smile after I took her with me to Evergreen. Kep wanting to get up at 5. Little Gertie, a sweet girl. Snow showers yesterday. The wet whooshing sound of the occasional car on Black Mountain Drive. Braiding Sweetgrass, the grammar of animacy. Capitalizing the names of plants and animals to show their life force.
Buddy Tom Crane found this oh so pagan poem. I loved it and want to share it.
Time for Serenity, Anyone?
by William Stafford
I like to live in the sound of water,
in the feel of mountain air. A sharp
reminder hits me: this world still is alive;
it stretches out there shivering toward its own
creation, and I’m part of it. Even my breathing
enters into the elaborate give-and-take,
this bowing to sun and moon, day or night,
winter, summer, storm, still—this tranquil
chaos that seems to be going somewhere.
This wilderness with a great peacefulness in it.
This motionless turmoil, this everything dance.
