New England Winter

New England Winter. February, 2015.

This past winter was memorable. While visiting family in Maine, Megan and I decided to take a drive during a snow storm. I’d much rather adventure in a blizzard then sit comfortably while watching it from a window.

One of the back roads had a high snowbank. We stopped the vehicle and I got out and started to climb. Megan took the picture. I didn’t think much of the picture at the time.  Now though, I enjoy it very much.

On the other side of the banking is a large field. It was cold and very dark.

Odd Walking Thoughts – Heave

You ran from. Something followed. I wasn’t sure which it was. I looked and saw you. I asked, Why are we here? You said because I lied. I asked why you lied. You told me to save. I wasn’t sure what save meant and spilled. -M. Taggart

Maine

The average temperature during the day was 20 degrees. The air was bitter cold. The wind blew constantly from the north. Our faces turned red with wind burn by mid-morning. We all wore layers to keep as warm as possible. I grew a beard for the trip.

The orange hunting jacket was given to me. I could have purchased one for the hunt, but I didn’t because it warmed George to hand his old hunting jacket over to me. I happily accepted. I could have purchased a rifle for the trip. I didn’t. George had a rifle waiting for me. He preferred I use the old gun. He’d owned it years ago, sold it, and bought it back just before the trip. Some people truly do enjoy to give. I’ve not often been in the state of mind to be able to accept.

We drove Maine back roads to camp. We visited an old Saloon style pub that was built in 1895. The porch was beaten and perfect. Hard woods floors and a tired pine bar held mugs of beer for when we were ready. The bartender was heavy and smiled often. I thought to myself that happiness is found when we are content with ourselves and our surroundings. This bartender was doing a good job of being perfectly her. I hoped to myself that she’d never felt disappointment from outside judgment. Of course, that’s much to ask or hope for.

My beard is black with gray streaks. I like the streaks. I don’t wish to be outwardly perfect or find hair products to grow what I lost over the years. I take the streaks and the laugh wrinkles around my eyes as fitting.

We drove by a sign. It mentioned God and Hell and green.

Dark comes quickly that far north. Rick lit a camp fire each afternoon. It snowed nearly every time we stood next to the fire. Stories all around, filling the air, lost and weaving from one to the next. There wasn’t electricity to twitch our nerves. The sounds of the crunching snow underfoot spoke enough to keep me busy.

One night it became very clear. The temperate dropped to 12 and then lower. I walked with a few of the men to the edge of the lake and witnessed the sight of the stars. They were gathered in unpolluted formations.

I’m unsure if I mentioned this. To be sure- We drove by a sign. It mentioned God and Hell and green.

209 (520) – Emily Dickinson

This morning I took my coffee on the deck and admired the frost. Within that moment Emily Dickinson was yet again my teacher.

I Started Early – Took my Dog-
And visited the Sea-

Emily Dickinson, Final Harvest. 209 (520)

Emily reminds me that we don’t need to name our poetry. Emily also reminds me that a few words say much.

Odd Walking Thoughts – Fading Footprints

We were walking and it was very cold.  You told me ‘It’s too much and we need not walk further.’  I said ‘If we stop we’ll freeze and die’. You were always the one to know. What did you know this time?  Then, I asked, ‘If my footprints were fading, along the path where we were to be saved, would you let us in?’ To which you replied ‘ I’d ask you to remember, please, what lead you to the place you now stood.’ -M. Taggart