Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Will ye go, to Sherwood, go?
Oh, the springing time is coming,
And the trees soon shall be blooming,
And the wild forest rhymes
Grow among the wintered weather.
Will you go, to Sherwood, will you go?
And we'll all be together
To build a place to love
All around these walls of cedar,
Will you go, to Sherwood, go?
I will build my love a home
By yon dragon-wrap’t fountain,
And all around the water,
I'll pile flowers from the mountain.
(Chorus)
If my true world will nae have me,
I will surely find another
To spin wild forest rhymes
All around these walls of cedar,
(Chorus)
Oh, the springing time is coming,
And the trees soon shall be blooming,
And the wild forest rhymes
Grow among the wintered weather.
(Chorus)
And the trees soon shall be blooming,
And the wild forest rhymes
Grow among the wintered weather.
Will you go, to Sherwood, will you go?
And we'll all be together
To build a place to love
All around these walls of cedar,
Will you go, to Sherwood, go?
I will build my love a home
By yon dragon-wrap’t fountain,
And all around the water,
I'll pile flowers from the mountain.
(Chorus)
If my true world will nae have me,
I will surely find another
To spin wild forest rhymes
All around these walls of cedar,
(Chorus)
Oh, the springing time is coming,
And the trees soon shall be blooming,
And the wild forest rhymes
Grow among the wintered weather.
(Chorus)
Friday, July 01, 2011
The Leaving Trees
The Leaving Trees
What do trees have to do with The Process of Family? After all, Family infers an inherent Human subject matter or at least topic. The innate conceit of Homo Centricus, I suppose. Nothing wrong with it on the surface – we have been given Dominion over the Earth, right?
26
Then God said: "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. Let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and the cattle, and over all the wild animals and all the creatures that crawl on the ground."
Genesis 1:
27
God created man in his image; in the divine image he created him; male and female he created them.
28
God blessed them, saying: "Be fertile and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it. Have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and all the living things that move on the earth."
29
God also said: "See, I give you every seed-bearing plant all over the earth and every tree that has seed-bearing fruit on it to be your food;
30
and to all the animals of the land, all the birds of the air, and all the living creatures that crawl on the ground, I give all the green plants for food." And so it happened. New American Bible
So, it can be said that we are Family with all the creations of the Father, & as Heads of Household we have dominion over all others within this house. With dominion comes responsibility & stewardship within our capabilities & the limitations of society.
The grounds of WolfLodge are changing. In the last year I have felled 8-10 large pines & 3 big oaks. The pines were no big surprise, as the advance of the nasty red pine borer beetle has followed my little farm road for a number of years. The Lost Pines are indeed becoming more lost, if that is possible. Just last weekend we were startled to find a large limb broken off a 50-foot tall oak just a few feet from the house. Now, pines lay down & oaks shed limbs as a natural matter of course, but large areas or formerly dense canopy are opening to the sun & becoming more habitat for yaupons & vines. Lingering (& critically necessary) burn bans allow infested wood to remain on site, ensuring retrenchment.
The culprit? Exceptional drought, widespread & unrelenting. Our area just experienced the 3rd-driest October-June since 1856. Now, when shooting hoops with The Knucklehead in the evenings is an exercise in staring & squinting into the setting summer sun. 18 days in June with triple-digit temperatures included 10 in a row.
Our sandy ground does not hold moisture when it comes so rarely. The junipers seem to be holding their own so far, with a light crop of berries this year. Grapes ripened 30-40’ up in the oaks, so no pickable crop this year unless we learn to levitate…
I grew up in the forests of the Alleghenies, spending ignorant days in the cool mossiness among the mayapples. Oases in a desert of environmental devastations, these were my sanctuaries. Then all those forests were gone (again), given over to mining after the shafts beneath became unusable. Decades-long mine shaft fires kept snow accumulation down across the lane from my childhood home: at least they are out now, extinguished by massive strip mining operations.
So, what should/can we do? Watering slow & deep around must-stay trees, taking extreme care not to damage emerging seedlings & saplings, & locating the accoutrements of modern life in harmony (so to speak) with nature’s layout. My old friend Wanbli Tante only plants his veggies in naturally-open ground. My CaveWife Laura gives watery love to my massive & beloved Beautyberry (Callicarpa Americana) whenever she waters her raised-bed garden.
The trees are leaving WolfLodge & her neighbors: a new construction home on our North edge removed nearly an acre of cover, which further stressed our forest (and, I might add, our North roof as predicted by our home inspector.) by increasing wind loads. What will replace the 45+ year-old pines? Thicket? Brambles? Even with our sand, cacti are rare & venerated. I assume it is due to the acidic soil which favors the pines so well.
Many folks coming to our yard sales remarked that they were unaware of the existence of our house: not such a secret anymore.
All the living things which move through our tiny forest are Family. Raccoons, possums, deer (rare now), foxes (even rarer), woodpeckers, huge Bluejays & cardinals, monstrously large & revered ravens, red-tailed hawks (which torment my poor 20-year old cockatiel Bandit), even the lizards that occasionally stroll in.
So this fuzzy old romantic mourns the Leaving of the Trees as he felt the Vanishing of the Bees...
What do trees have to do with The Process of Family? After all, Family infers an inherent Human subject matter or at least topic. The innate conceit of Homo Centricus, I suppose. Nothing wrong with it on the surface – we have been given Dominion over the Earth, right?
26
Then God said: "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. Let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and the cattle, and over all the wild animals and all the creatures that crawl on the ground."
Genesis 1:
27
God created man in his image; in the divine image he created him; male and female he created them.
28
God blessed them, saying: "Be fertile and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it. Have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and all the living things that move on the earth."
29
God also said: "See, I give you every seed-bearing plant all over the earth and every tree that has seed-bearing fruit on it to be your food;
30
and to all the animals of the land, all the birds of the air, and all the living creatures that crawl on the ground, I give all the green plants for food." And so it happened. New American Bible
So, it can be said that we are Family with all the creations of the Father, & as Heads of Household we have dominion over all others within this house. With dominion comes responsibility & stewardship within our capabilities & the limitations of society.
The grounds of WolfLodge are changing. In the last year I have felled 8-10 large pines & 3 big oaks. The pines were no big surprise, as the advance of the nasty red pine borer beetle has followed my little farm road for a number of years. The Lost Pines are indeed becoming more lost, if that is possible. Just last weekend we were startled to find a large limb broken off a 50-foot tall oak just a few feet from the house. Now, pines lay down & oaks shed limbs as a natural matter of course, but large areas or formerly dense canopy are opening to the sun & becoming more habitat for yaupons & vines. Lingering (& critically necessary) burn bans allow infested wood to remain on site, ensuring retrenchment.
The culprit? Exceptional drought, widespread & unrelenting. Our area just experienced the 3rd-driest October-June since 1856. Now, when shooting hoops with The Knucklehead in the evenings is an exercise in staring & squinting into the setting summer sun. 18 days in June with triple-digit temperatures included 10 in a row.
Our sandy ground does not hold moisture when it comes so rarely. The junipers seem to be holding their own so far, with a light crop of berries this year. Grapes ripened 30-40’ up in the oaks, so no pickable crop this year unless we learn to levitate…
I grew up in the forests of the Alleghenies, spending ignorant days in the cool mossiness among the mayapples. Oases in a desert of environmental devastations, these were my sanctuaries. Then all those forests were gone (again), given over to mining after the shafts beneath became unusable. Decades-long mine shaft fires kept snow accumulation down across the lane from my childhood home: at least they are out now, extinguished by massive strip mining operations.
So, what should/can we do? Watering slow & deep around must-stay trees, taking extreme care not to damage emerging seedlings & saplings, & locating the accoutrements of modern life in harmony (so to speak) with nature’s layout. My old friend Wanbli Tante only plants his veggies in naturally-open ground. My CaveWife Laura gives watery love to my massive & beloved Beautyberry (Callicarpa Americana) whenever she waters her raised-bed garden.
The trees are leaving WolfLodge & her neighbors: a new construction home on our North edge removed nearly an acre of cover, which further stressed our forest (and, I might add, our North roof as predicted by our home inspector.) by increasing wind loads. What will replace the 45+ year-old pines? Thicket? Brambles? Even with our sand, cacti are rare & venerated. I assume it is due to the acidic soil which favors the pines so well.
Many folks coming to our yard sales remarked that they were unaware of the existence of our house: not such a secret anymore.
All the living things which move through our tiny forest are Family. Raccoons, possums, deer (rare now), foxes (even rarer), woodpeckers, huge Bluejays & cardinals, monstrously large & revered ravens, red-tailed hawks (which torment my poor 20-year old cockatiel Bandit), even the lizards that occasionally stroll in.
So this fuzzy old romantic mourns the Leaving of the Trees as he felt the Vanishing of the Bees...
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Where, America?
Where is your soul, amidst scorched & browning waves of grain?
Where is your heart, beneath the toxic haze over the mountains majestic?
Where are your hands, idle & misdirected, outsourced to oblivion?
Where are your mighty creations, your epic tales, your tall & proud symbols of freedom & love?
Where is your shame at a dream cast aside & a promise torn asunder?
Where, America?
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Will I be alone?
Will I be alone, when they roll back the stone?
Will there be someone to wait with me,
Someone I’ve always known?
When the Son walked beside me,
When he sat there by my side,
I found myself looking around,
For someone else to find.
A guide to stand along with me
To show me how to live
But no one else came thru that light
A guiding hand to give.
Will I be alone, when they roll back the stone?
Will there be someone to wait with me,
Someone I’ve always known?
I thought He was there to help me
To welcome one who knew
The way to Heaven’s glory
When my earthly life is through.
But no one else stepped forward
Though into the glow I stared
Not knowing that the One I sought
Was seated with me there
Will I be alone, when they roll back the stone?
Will there be someone to wait with me,
Someone I’ve always known?
And many’s the years later on
When it occurred to me
That when the Son revealed Himself
I was too blind to see
So have I squandered that He gave
Too destined by the world
To take His hand & call Him Lord
Before the gates of pearl?
Will I be alone, when they roll back the stone?
Will there be someone to wait with me,
Someone I’ve always known?
Will there be someone to wait with me,
Someone I’ve always known?
When the Son walked beside me,
When he sat there by my side,
I found myself looking around,
For someone else to find.
A guide to stand along with me
To show me how to live
But no one else came thru that light
A guiding hand to give.
Will I be alone, when they roll back the stone?
Will there be someone to wait with me,
Someone I’ve always known?
I thought He was there to help me
To welcome one who knew
The way to Heaven’s glory
When my earthly life is through.
But no one else stepped forward
Though into the glow I stared
Not knowing that the One I sought
Was seated with me there
Will I be alone, when they roll back the stone?
Will there be someone to wait with me,
Someone I’ve always known?
And many’s the years later on
When it occurred to me
That when the Son revealed Himself
I was too blind to see
So have I squandered that He gave
Too destined by the world
To take His hand & call Him Lord
Before the gates of pearl?
Will I be alone, when they roll back the stone?
Will there be someone to wait with me,
Someone I’ve always known?
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Defining the Differences
Baby, I try to look forward , & toward,
But sometimes all I see is before.
The roads well taken, the paths poorly walked,
The twisted & missed turnoffs
The signposts unseen, those ignored, & those I ran down
The lives we lead are the verses of our own songs
Sometimes tones ever sweet, sometimes subdued,
Sometimes fugues of requiem, other times anthems strong
Shaped by the music we heard, & the notes we sang out
And the rare duets that perfectly blended.
When my voice cracks on a note I should not have tried
I am saddened by it, like a student whose brush wavers
In front of the master, knowing that he has failed to learn
And the master’s eyes are pained by its’ imperfection
So that the work entire is diminished in his sight.
When I sing for you, I try to show my love
In the choice of the song, & my devotion to you
Knowing that my voice has faded, where yours has grown
And I wish not to gift you with imperfections
Or with songs that you will not understand.
I listen to the music of your life & hear mine echo
In the distance of memories. The sounds of my childhood,
Sunday afternoon Polka Party, KDKA-AM,
When there was happy music, before anger’s bacchanal,
And I reveled in its’ transitory lifting up of spirit.
How can I gift you with this, so foreign to who you are
So basic to who I am, who I was, & who I shall become?
Music to me now is Celtic, is Native, these
Things I have gathered to me in replacement
Of lost heritage, denied connections, atonal memories
I hear the music of your life, urban & unfamiliar
To me. How can I change my ears to your rhythms,
To live in a world of which I know nothing?
The answer is that I love you, & will step into your heart
And learn its’ beat, & gift to you the purest notes I can craft.
And I will live for the harmonies & forget the dissonance
For love is the truest song we can sing,
And all that is required is that we sing it together
In the key of love, always striving for the pitch
Of complete harmony, falling sweetly upon the ears of God.
But sometimes all I see is before.
The roads well taken, the paths poorly walked,
The twisted & missed turnoffs
The signposts unseen, those ignored, & those I ran down
The lives we lead are the verses of our own songs
Sometimes tones ever sweet, sometimes subdued,
Sometimes fugues of requiem, other times anthems strong
Shaped by the music we heard, & the notes we sang out
And the rare duets that perfectly blended.
When my voice cracks on a note I should not have tried
I am saddened by it, like a student whose brush wavers
In front of the master, knowing that he has failed to learn
And the master’s eyes are pained by its’ imperfection
So that the work entire is diminished in his sight.
When I sing for you, I try to show my love
In the choice of the song, & my devotion to you
Knowing that my voice has faded, where yours has grown
And I wish not to gift you with imperfections
Or with songs that you will not understand.
I listen to the music of your life & hear mine echo
In the distance of memories. The sounds of my childhood,
Sunday afternoon Polka Party, KDKA-AM,
When there was happy music, before anger’s bacchanal,
And I reveled in its’ transitory lifting up of spirit.
How can I gift you with this, so foreign to who you are
So basic to who I am, who I was, & who I shall become?
Music to me now is Celtic, is Native, these
Things I have gathered to me in replacement
Of lost heritage, denied connections, atonal memories
I hear the music of your life, urban & unfamiliar
To me. How can I change my ears to your rhythms,
To live in a world of which I know nothing?
The answer is that I love you, & will step into your heart
And learn its’ beat, & gift to you the purest notes I can craft.
And I will live for the harmonies & forget the dissonance
For love is the truest song we can sing,
And all that is required is that we sing it together
In the key of love, always striving for the pitch
Of complete harmony, falling sweetly upon the ears of God.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Why Anger, Why Now?
Why am I angry now
After all has gone me by?
Where joy I saw as it flashed me past
Now see I but that which I detest
And me I detest anew for its' effect.
Shining sun & smiling face
Do naught to lift my heart
The promise of promises to be fulfilled
Leaves me no hope for happiness to come
Just loneliness is gifted me in my duress
So me this prison time arrests
And me grips in cold embrace
As water from a sky of ice
Escapes & mocks me with its' flight
Chilling the heart of me, gray & wasting
Anger me warms not with passion
Blood runs blue & frozen, mocking
The hardened veins deliver no breath
To a heart that cracks with every beat
Is life for me a cursing cross, or is it gone me without farewell?
After all has gone me by?
Where joy I saw as it flashed me past
Now see I but that which I detest
And me I detest anew for its' effect.
Shining sun & smiling face
Do naught to lift my heart
The promise of promises to be fulfilled
Leaves me no hope for happiness to come
Just loneliness is gifted me in my duress
So me this prison time arrests
And me grips in cold embrace
As water from a sky of ice
Escapes & mocks me with its' flight
Chilling the heart of me, gray & wasting
Anger me warms not with passion
Blood runs blue & frozen, mocking
The hardened veins deliver no breath
To a heart that cracks with every beat
Is life for me a cursing cross, or is it gone me without farewell?
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Wasted Weekdays
Monday: too soon after I am gone, the missing stings with an acid tang. I feel you close, yet every mile, every second pulls me farther & longer away, & I resist. Monday I rail against the wind.
Tuesday: too long until Friday, a week's worth of longing in a compact 24-hour legacy of keen awareness of separation. Tuesday I stare at the mountain of days.
Wednesday: too long gone, too long til I return. In limbo, teetering on the brink of memory, above the chasm of empty days. Wednesday I chase my shadow.
Thursday: too much loneliness, no touch, too much do I yearn for you, & I must do it again tomorrow. Thursday I curse the sun.
Friday: too many days alone, sleep will not rescue me, the clock ticks too slowly. Tonight I will hold you. Friday I beg for sunset.
Saturday I wake & sit anxious to see your face, knowing the day will be filled with you.
Sunday I crave your eyes on mine & grieve that I must leave you again tonight.
The days turn, my love for you grows, an eternity looms until you are in my arms every day. Tick off the days, my darling: though the number falls, it still seems forever...
Tuesday: too long until Friday, a week's worth of longing in a compact 24-hour legacy of keen awareness of separation. Tuesday I stare at the mountain of days.
Wednesday: too long gone, too long til I return. In limbo, teetering on the brink of memory, above the chasm of empty days. Wednesday I chase my shadow.
Thursday: too much loneliness, no touch, too much do I yearn for you, & I must do it again tomorrow. Thursday I curse the sun.
Friday: too many days alone, sleep will not rescue me, the clock ticks too slowly. Tonight I will hold you. Friday I beg for sunset.
Saturday I wake & sit anxious to see your face, knowing the day will be filled with you.
Sunday I crave your eyes on mine & grieve that I must leave you again tonight.
The days turn, my love for you grows, an eternity looms until you are in my arms every day. Tick off the days, my darling: though the number falls, it still seems forever...
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