Friday, January 23, 2015

Heading South on a January Adventure

In memory of Marcus Borg, and appreciation for Epworth By The Sea  
Athens, Georgia 
January 16, 2015; revised 11/20/15

There are sullen winter spells
that settle heavy on the soul
like overcooked comfort food
on two-hour naps through half dark

days, stuck in a string of gray
thirties, when wet descends
in cold drifts; when stoic dogs
slink tail down and humans trudge

a step behind; when songbirds
are silent fluffballs decorating
bare branches, and muffled crows
cast about, listless. But, yes —

when the cold cloud lifts;
when morning frost makes fractal
arcs and silver whorls tag windshields;
when the sky dome glows blue again

I shall head south on a state road, past
brown fields of dog fennel when backlit
tips are tan halos behind stubble ditches
and broomsedge shoulders. I shall sail

over silhouettes of distant cattle plying
well trod pasture; beyond tin-roof sheds,
strewn about with farm machines; above
ancient lawns anchored by scotch broom

and lonely oak; over ordered rows of old
pecan outside the town where Remus
broods; through the strip past Andalusia,
set apart from the way to Walmart.

I shall crest the fall line and roll the frozen
swells of an ancient seabed that stretches
out to the blue-green horizon of barren
plantations in cash-crop pine.

Will you come too? Shall we tune
our souls to a mellow song? Can we
‘Let it Be’ ‘Sweet Baby James’ down
‘The Long and Winding Road’ again?

So calm we are energized by Enya.
So centered we bless the car that cuts
us off and love the occupied driver
inside. For there are kind winter

spells, and we are heading south,
cutting through noon shadows
to a land of graybeard and ghosts,
confluence of earth and sky, river

and sea, where brackish channels
braid marsh and mudbank, porpoise
feed the peaceful waters, and mist
mingles with heaven at dawn.

Epworth By The Sea

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Gossamer Fossils

Athens, Georgia
January 15, 2015; revised May 25, 2018

If you wander down a woodland trail  
that leads beside the river shoals 
on a sultry morning washed in breeze
and bathed in birdsong reverie;

if you sit beside the shady bank 
where your dogs scratch cool dirt; 
and if you savor the dark scent 
while watching waters rushing by 

the rock-strewn reach to sculpted pools 
where dappled sunlight filters through 
the hidden depths that harbor lives 
beneath the stream-side canopy – 

you will carry forever gossamer fossils 
coded in the living web 
of birds, dogs, moss, and trees, 
souls bound by unseen thread. 

"Water Lilies" photograph by David Noah,
Winterville, Georgia