I am not able – it turns out – to influence the machinations of this world through my state of disquietude no matter how strong that state might be
So I must relearn to breathe to release to try to control only that which is mine to have even the illusion of control
I need to accept the reality of things as unreal as I might find them
I must disconnect and find the virtues of a simplicity I’ve not known since my earliest years
Anything else is futility
Sanctuary is in the straightforward
– – – – –
Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Matthew 6:26, NIV
Predicting the weather, especially in the early days of summer in the south, is always the pursuit of a moving target. Air pressure rises and falls, fronts move, winds shift, and water vapor collects in white masses that turn to gray then turn to black. Temperatures drop ten degrees in a matter of minutes and the trees wave back and forth, welcoming the lashing they are to take. Nature holds on.
warm turns to cool clouds roll in from the west we brace for what’s next
I have an opinion, and a way to get it out there …….I can share it, so I will What’s an “informed opinion?” I don’t care — this one is mine …….And that’s what matters I see that you have an opinion as well, your own point of view …….Even though it’s flawed As easily as I can share my opinion, I could do some reading …….That doesn’t matter I have no time for nuance, as there are other battles to be fought …….I have an opinion You’ll try to scroll on by, but you’ll probably see it, this opinion of mine …….I can share it, so I will
Tim Gels, Draft
Please note: This is not an autobiographical poem!
The driver ahead of me hesitated physically straddling the line between turning or not as one does when a decision is uncertain.
It was a small car, road-dirty with out-of-state plates and a single occupant, a man whose greying hair was visible in the early morning light.
As I would too, he pulled through the light in the turn lane and it was curiosity, I confess, that soon had me alongside him for just a moment before pulling ahead.
Perhaps mid-60s, needing a shave but not a haircut. A look of concentration with his left hand on the wheel and his right clutching a sheet of paper.
A few moments later I looked for him in the mirror, but he was gone. Where was he going, this far from home? Where was I going, this close to home?
Shaking the thought, I slowed once more dutifully put on my signal and made a turn into the rising sun.
A picnic table sits beneath a spreading white oak tree just outside the building where I spend many of my days extending an unspoken invitation to all who walk past it.
Perched on a slight incline, it is bathed in deep, cool shade, and a breeze has, more often than not, accepted the invitation and it, in turn, entreats passersby to do the same.
Were it not for the heavy chain tethering the table so close that the tree itself takes two of the end seats that haven on the hill would be perfect.
Enjoy the table, but don’t steal it. Things are complicated.
It was a sincere question and honestly I had to think for a few seconds before I answered.
The easy answer the one I didn’t give was it couldn’t be anything else.
With those compound leaves it wasn’t any of the oaks or maples redbud was out of the question as was beech and tulip poplar.
With those leaflets as small and numerous as they were ash, hickory box elder buckeye and even pecan were off the list.
But on that late April morning it was more than just seeing what it wasn’t
It was seeing what it had to be.
With those dangling clusters of wondrous white flowers laden with nectar, pollen, and bumble bees
It had to be a black locust. It couldn’t be anything else.
“It’s the flowers,” I said with a smile.
Just a note:
I know and understand that most people don’t know how to identify the trees around them. Or the flowers, shrubs, and grasses. There are so many I don’t know . . . lots more than I do.
In the early grades, we often use what’s known as “environmental print” to help students to read. Environmental print is helpful because almost everyone, even children at a young age, can recognize it — it’s ubiquitous and you know it at a glance.
When I learn with people — especially young people — outdoors, it’s my hope that they would develop a familiarity with the world around them. Much like recognizing the M that is the golden arches, it would be great if, at a glance, we could recognize the plants and animals around us.
To paraphrase Aldo Leopold, we can’t love what we don’t know.
Man vs. nature I would write in the margins back when I was made to do such things
I remember that along with man vs. man and man vs. self — conflict
Now, some forty years later as I walk the trails and see what I see
I wonder why I never wrote nature vs. man I wonder why
back when I was made to do such things
—–
Just a note: I understand we more-accurately say character instead of man these days. This poem takes me back to the 70s. A lot of things were different back then. (And a lot of things weren’t.)
