two little pills every meal. one packet in the morning and one in the evening. think positively so as to preemptively overcome. listen only to the soothing sounds of Iron & Wine. Call me in the morning.
this is the prescription i wrote myself a day or two ago. while not admitting that some sickness may be attacking, i feel the comings on. the two pills are 'purple cornflower', known as echinacea. the two packets are emergen-C. nothing drastic here. assume no defeat until it's too late. always was a trail blazer. blazing trails potentially into sickness and idiocy.
actually, i something much stranger than all that happened today. after literally freezing temps on mon and tues, rainy cold on wed and thurs, the ever fickle natured weather sprung on us a 75 degree day. clear and bright. a long standing truth is learned. weather is held in check and known by no man. the earth and it's maker are mighty and whimsical.
another truth. the world, beyond the weather, is less and less known. and as i am now, i must prepare for the winter and the seasons ahead. thicken my skin, protect what is dear.
storms are a-comin. meet me in the shelter. i'll bring the Iron & Wine.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
the snow keeps me sharp...
i will attempt to overwhelm you (or maybe just regular-whelm you) today with two, yes two posts, after not having written in as many months.
i must tell you of something new for me, that rouses a child like excitement that is nothing less than refreshing. it snowed. a pretty good one for old nash. first, i've never lived in the snow. second, supposedly, it never sticks. well, a couple inches fell on thurs night and it's still here this morning, glistening and crackling under foot, when one ventures out into it, leaving the warmth of layers, couches, and pressed hot black medicine (coffee).
my love and i took a walk in the falling down the other night as it dusted all around us. both God and man made things were made as one under that soft white, and how unlike anything else and quite amazing it is to see the trees and grass and ground with their white shadows, their snowy outlines. it places a romanticism in the thin chilled air as everything made beautiful.
i think perhaps the contrast between inside and outside becomes more drastic. i peak out the window and see a world beyond that to step into takes thought and preparation. i am protected from it all and this is my home. perhaps the cozy connotations of home become more readily felt when the frozen out-of-doors lays kept at bay.
when prepared, both in mind and in dress, the snow and cold is a wonderful thing!
over the thanxgiving time, i awoke one morning and like a strong wind i was compelled to write. i'd like to share that with you now. and secondly, i'm reminded of an older poem that i wrote that today's snowy day just demands that i include.
i endeavor to write to you more while my mind, far from the frozen world, is warm and alive with words and dreams.
----------------------------
'daybreaking'
the daybreak sun
pushes down
tirelessly
through fog and
the fragile early hour frost,
breaking apart shadows
and the sediment
of yesterday's worries.
the night may capture
all of the previous day
holding our thoughts
like the stiff green/white grass,
but the still and cold
that holds it all in silence
effortlessly bleeds into
that morning peace--
quiet reverie of newness.
all will thaw
and is made whole and new
at the first glows
stretching far from the horizon.
when these panes of glass
hold not back that daybreak sun
from my face,
my eyes behold a clarity
so sharp
and my mind rests in that
healing morning silence.
----------------------------
'sd snow'
the snow fell
or so the pictures told.
it fell for you
deep into my spring months.
the weather’s promise
of the cold
became old tradition
for you and your Midwest.
hugging branches
and porch banisters,
sleeping in stream beds,
the white erases the past
in icy breaths.
though I sit hearthed and homed
a thousand miles away
from your familiar
snow clouded skies,
the draft from under the door
brings crystalline water memories
and a chill to my neck.
as I put the water
on to boil,
I peak out the window shade
to my own cool evening sky,
snowed pictures in hand.
----------------------------
i must tell you of something new for me, that rouses a child like excitement that is nothing less than refreshing. it snowed. a pretty good one for old nash. first, i've never lived in the snow. second, supposedly, it never sticks. well, a couple inches fell on thurs night and it's still here this morning, glistening and crackling under foot, when one ventures out into it, leaving the warmth of layers, couches, and pressed hot black medicine (coffee).
my love and i took a walk in the falling down the other night as it dusted all around us. both God and man made things were made as one under that soft white, and how unlike anything else and quite amazing it is to see the trees and grass and ground with their white shadows, their snowy outlines. it places a romanticism in the thin chilled air as everything made beautiful.
i think perhaps the contrast between inside and outside becomes more drastic. i peak out the window and see a world beyond that to step into takes thought and preparation. i am protected from it all and this is my home. perhaps the cozy connotations of home become more readily felt when the frozen out-of-doors lays kept at bay.
when prepared, both in mind and in dress, the snow and cold is a wonderful thing!
over the thanxgiving time, i awoke one morning and like a strong wind i was compelled to write. i'd like to share that with you now. and secondly, i'm reminded of an older poem that i wrote that today's snowy day just demands that i include.
i endeavor to write to you more while my mind, far from the frozen world, is warm and alive with words and dreams.
----------------------------
'daybreaking'
the daybreak sun
pushes down
tirelessly
through fog and
the fragile early hour frost,
breaking apart shadows
and the sediment
of yesterday's worries.
the night may capture
all of the previous day
holding our thoughts
like the stiff green/white grass,
but the still and cold
that holds it all in silence
effortlessly bleeds into
that morning peace--
quiet reverie of newness.
all will thaw
and is made whole and new
at the first glows
stretching far from the horizon.
when these panes of glass
hold not back that daybreak sun
from my face,
my eyes behold a clarity
so sharp
and my mind rests in that
healing morning silence.
----------------------------
'sd snow'
the snow fell
or so the pictures told.
it fell for you
deep into my spring months.
the weather’s promise
of the cold
became old tradition
for you and your Midwest.
hugging branches
and porch banisters,
sleeping in stream beds,
the white erases the past
in icy breaths.
though I sit hearthed and homed
a thousand miles away
from your familiar
snow clouded skies,
the draft from under the door
brings crystalline water memories
and a chill to my neck.
as I put the water
on to boil,
I peak out the window shade
to my own cool evening sky,
snowed pictures in hand.
----------------------------
snippits...signposts...and ostensible musings...
-- "i saw a tree in my travels today, half ablaze in yellow and orange leaves, fiery rustling in the biting cool breeze, and half barren, naked, still. winter chill is upon us and the autumn winds and the hues they bring are leaving." --
i wrote that on the ninth of november, a far cry and time from today's winter day. how funny. while driving i saw this tree, normal to any other on any other day, but that day it spoke to me. clearly. the changing of season, the change following the chapters in our lives. my time here has been brimming with much change, naturally. and perhaps one of the hard aspects of life and local change is the retention of all the good that has come before.
i, as we all do, get very much wrapped in all this important and unimportant here, with my job, with my love, and with this new whirling future. then, in waves, little bits, memories mostly, flood back with all their smells, sounds, and tactile veracity, and i am taken sad for parts of days. my mind, in the silence of my focused woodworking, has much time to pass to and fro through time, and traverse the states, timezones, mountains and miles to visit all those i hold in love. one memory or carefully wrapped bunch of memories that i return to often is that of my time on the indian reservations. a few weeks ago, though i cannot recall when, i jotted this in a failed attempt to blog. at the time, i believe i tried to tack these two fragments together, in hopes of appeasing the guilt that eats at my for not writing. but, now, i have properly eulogized those false starts of creative thought but giving them at least a small frame in which to persist.
-- "i'm missing the rez. there is no eloquent way to put it, though i sit here and stare at the keys, trying to paint that longing in some softer way, just to ease it a little. i miss that something that is ephemeral as my telling you of it." --
i suppose that the most interesting thing is not the words or sentiments that either contain, but perhaps their lasting worth comes from their comparison and contrast to today's day. and all the things that i'm feeling now. little sign posts to consider in looking back.
life is settling into a veritable rhythm, and this passage of time does not tarnish the past, but rather affords me time to take each thought and polish it's exterior to the glow of loving memory...
i wrote that on the ninth of november, a far cry and time from today's winter day. how funny. while driving i saw this tree, normal to any other on any other day, but that day it spoke to me. clearly. the changing of season, the change following the chapters in our lives. my time here has been brimming with much change, naturally. and perhaps one of the hard aspects of life and local change is the retention of all the good that has come before.
i, as we all do, get very much wrapped in all this important and unimportant here, with my job, with my love, and with this new whirling future. then, in waves, little bits, memories mostly, flood back with all their smells, sounds, and tactile veracity, and i am taken sad for parts of days. my mind, in the silence of my focused woodworking, has much time to pass to and fro through time, and traverse the states, timezones, mountains and miles to visit all those i hold in love. one memory or carefully wrapped bunch of memories that i return to often is that of my time on the indian reservations. a few weeks ago, though i cannot recall when, i jotted this in a failed attempt to blog. at the time, i believe i tried to tack these two fragments together, in hopes of appeasing the guilt that eats at my for not writing. but, now, i have properly eulogized those false starts of creative thought but giving them at least a small frame in which to persist.
-- "i'm missing the rez. there is no eloquent way to put it, though i sit here and stare at the keys, trying to paint that longing in some softer way, just to ease it a little. i miss that something that is ephemeral as my telling you of it." --
i suppose that the most interesting thing is not the words or sentiments that either contain, but perhaps their lasting worth comes from their comparison and contrast to today's day. and all the things that i'm feeling now. little sign posts to consider in looking back.
life is settling into a veritable rhythm, and this passage of time does not tarnish the past, but rather affords me time to take each thought and polish it's exterior to the glow of loving memory...
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