Sunday, December 2, 2012

sometimes the mountain

Slow and soft. This Sunday morning. Earl Grey tea. Toast with Belgian butter and cinnamon sugar. Browsing through a couple of poetry books looking for inspiration for the poetry marathon workshop coming up starting tomorrow afternoon and for which I'll have to write a new poem each day for five days.  Peaceful here now after days getting the house ready for my BBF's visit from California, trips to Santa Fe for yarn and food, meeting one more writing deadline, one knitting deadline, and finishing the pair of socks for the friend dealing with chemo treatments and whose feet are probably cold. Alpaca warmth. Soft color, soft touch. Wearing my own blue alpaca sox as I write on this cloudy morning that promises...what? snow? Not in the forecast. Just woodsmoke drifting up from neighbors' chimneys.
The blue socks make me think about the the day I walked a faraway beach under a cloudy sky, my unfinished alpaca sock in my bag and how I was irrationally inspired to photograph it on driftwood and seaweed.
Every time I wear those socks, that day on the Pacific shore, with all its scents and sounds, comes back to me in full array. It was as near perfect as a walk can be.
As much as I love sunshine, 50 degree days, sweaters instead of jackets and coats, I am now begging asking the Universe for moisture. It's getting serious. Moisture level is 75% below normal and all of us running on well water. I notice light snow along the mountainside this morning. Maybe it's been there for awhile, or maybe it fell during the night. A strong west wind blew in before dark, maybe it brought moisture from the northern California coast where I hear it's been raining "in torrents".
By this date, the mountain peaks that I can see from my kitchen should be thick and white with snow.
Sometimes the mountain
is hidden from me in veils
of cloud, sometimes
I am hidden from the mountain
in veils of inattention, apathy, fatigue,
when I forget or refuse to go
down to the shore or a few yards
up the road, on a clear day,
to reconfirm
that witnessing presence
     Denise Levertov ("Witness")

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