Today feels like the first true day of summer, and here it is half-way through June. Ah, what we wait the longest for perhaps is more deeply appreciated? I don't know, but I'm just glad it's here... spending the day in the garden, I nearly missed some of the early bloomers. It's good to be back :)
I have this urge to go hiking... but first must tend to the chores that should have been done long before now. Or maybe I'd go fishing, it's been a long time...
In honor of those temptations, and as a promise that I will give in to them very soon - I thought I'd post "In The Mist". Written for a college project a couple of years ago, and then buried amongst other work that comes with seeking knowledge - I stumbled upon it again a few months ago...
*****
Rise early and be waiting, clear the fog out of your head
The sky begins more grey than blue; the sun will paint it red
The mist lies in the bottoms, and hides a secret at its feet
As the sunrise fades from red to gold, at the waters edge we’ll meet
The mist now softly rising, toward the sky of newest blue
Revealing now the water, and the valley it flows through
The mist surrounds my outfit, leaves me to walk with my disguise
I ease up on the river and imagine I am wise
Study life along the banks; pick one to join the dance
Hoping I can do my part, give the mist a parting glance
It’s just me and the river now, and the secret at its depth
I lift the tools of fishermen, of artists who have left
I’m here alone at water’s edge, the mist has disappeared
I’m lifting now the instruments those who came before have shared
Feeling the connections - from Grandpa, through, and past me
From man to fish to river, from thing to everything
Those who stood with me before, in part are with me now
All within me and beyond me, have joined to show me how
I lift the ancient master’s tool, the old line meets the wind
For an instant we are dancing, Grandpa and I (a kid)
A momentary rhythm - and no longer in the mist
I return to quiet solitude, the water and the fish
Step back from the water, put the old fly pole away
The fish remains a secret, to reveal another day.
DJB
The sky begins more grey than blue; the sun will paint it red
The mist lies in the bottoms, and hides a secret at its feet
As the sunrise fades from red to gold, at the waters edge we’ll meet
The mist now softly rising, toward the sky of newest blue
Revealing now the water, and the valley it flows through
The mist surrounds my outfit, leaves me to walk with my disguise
I ease up on the river and imagine I am wise
Study life along the banks; pick one to join the dance
Hoping I can do my part, give the mist a parting glance
It’s just me and the river now, and the secret at its depth
I lift the tools of fishermen, of artists who have left
I’m here alone at water’s edge, the mist has disappeared
I’m lifting now the instruments those who came before have shared
Feeling the connections - from Grandpa, through, and past me
From man to fish to river, from thing to everything
Those who stood with me before, in part are with me now
All within me and beyond me, have joined to show me how
I lift the ancient master’s tool, the old line meets the wind
For an instant we are dancing, Grandpa and I (a kid)
A momentary rhythm - and no longer in the mist
I return to quiet solitude, the water and the fish
Step back from the water, put the old fly pole away
The fish remains a secret, to reveal another day.
DJB
EOU Fall 2006
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