day dreamy Sunday
Caught up with a friend who is doing conservation work for the government in the U.P., Michigan; he shares stories and pictures of the beauty that is the U.P. at this time of year, and I can't help but be envious. I miss the abounding nature of the Farm; my solitary walks, reveling in this season: the loud early mornings I shared with the birds; the hopes of spotting a bear; the deer who ate abundant grasses in a nearby field, who looked on as I tended a garden of my own making; the river meandering along familiar paths...*sigh*
Thinking back to this time last year, driving north with B1&B2, bound from the Farm in MA to Acadia National Park, Maine. I have such vivid pictures of that place in my mind and am recalling those a lot these days as I fantasize about sneaking away to somewhere where I can again get lost in a summer afternoon's walk.
Until then I will live vicariously through Uncle Walt:
"...Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt;
Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd;
Just as you are refresh'd by the gladness of the river and the bright
flow, I was refresh'd;
Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift
current, I stood, yet was hurried;
Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships, and the thick-
stem'd pipes of steamboats, I look'd.
I too many and many a time cross'd the river, the sun half an hour
high;
I watched the Twelfth-month sea-gulls--I saw them high in the air,
floating with motionless wings, oscillating their bodies,
I saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies, and
left the rest in strong shadow,
I saw the slow-wheeling circles, and the gradual edging toward the
south.
I too saw the reflection of the summer sky in the water,
Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of beams,
Look'd at the fine centrifugal spokes of light around the shape of my
head in the sun-lit water..."
From "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry," Walt Whitman
Today feels like a daydreaming kind of day.
Thinking back to this time last year, driving north with B1&B2, bound from the Farm in MA to Acadia National Park, Maine. I have such vivid pictures of that place in my mind and am recalling those a lot these days as I fantasize about sneaking away to somewhere where I can again get lost in a summer afternoon's walk.
Until then I will live vicariously through Uncle Walt:
"...Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt;
Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd;
Just as you are refresh'd by the gladness of the river and the bright
flow, I was refresh'd;
Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift
current, I stood, yet was hurried;
Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships, and the thick-
stem'd pipes of steamboats, I look'd.
I too many and many a time cross'd the river, the sun half an hour
high;
I watched the Twelfth-month sea-gulls--I saw them high in the air,
floating with motionless wings, oscillating their bodies,
I saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies, and
left the rest in strong shadow,
I saw the slow-wheeling circles, and the gradual edging toward the
south.
I too saw the reflection of the summer sky in the water,
Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of beams,
Look'd at the fine centrifugal spokes of light around the shape of my
head in the sun-lit water..."
From "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry," Walt Whitman
Today feels like a daydreaming kind of day.
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