Every day I walk over this root (route) on my walk, on the trail that borders the brook as I cross from my property into Rocky Narrows, but today, for some unconscious reason, I stopped and noticed it, took a good look at this old beauty. Gorgeous, exposed tree root, now I’ll cross you with conscious awareness, like a threshold.
I walked past grape vines dripping with last night’s rain and the sky was bright blue with a few puffed up white clouds. A cheerful Sunday walk, and I saw the brightest red leaf, layered in browns, and everything cheered me today. The blues and reds and roots and leaves gave me energy and optimism in the air warming and fresh. We trotted along. There are two steep hills I try to climb every day, one or the other, but today I climbed both. Just for the discipline: I can walk past these steep hills or go up. At home, all afternoon by the fire, even with a few distractions, I worked all day on a poem for tomorrow night. Worked from
notes I made before Christmas, from the photo of me and my cousins. The notes were good, but still, where to start, what’s its shape, does it have one, and what is this about? Like climbing the hill. Go, a step at a time. Pretty soon I found it, stepping along a pretty good idea. I got it working well enough to put it away, satisfied, this is something I can bring. Good enough for now. All the kids and their partners, my brother’s family for dinner, and still the title, the lines running around in my head, some tweaks to be made. The root, like the photo: something old that has come to the surface and lasted. A poem is threshold to cross.