Resolution

The day has an edge like a ruler and is as inviting As an open clearing in the woods. I have resolved to walk among these shy hills New Year’s Day; I seek resolution in the roads that push and pull me . There is order and beauty in everything - Even in the litter that lines the roads – Orphaned cigarette packs, flattened juice boxes Beer pack rings, all the dullness of road salt. I follow the Sacred Silence into the New Year. Winter’s voice is a series of wind chimes When I am greeted by disembodied voices Carried on the wind like insects – “It’s so nice out!” and without seeing anyone I make human contact. A pair of ponies and chestnut brown mare Turn their heads and want to know what I am about. How do I answer them? Still, I follow the rock path, Upward, like Ezekiel in his chariot of fire, Into the hills. Into the Sacred Silence of the New Year. The jays have marked their territory With darting, nervous eyes – They flit just above the brown grasses feathered by the Wind. Ashen cedar bat boxes line the barbed wire That protects a local reclamation project – These are the legacy of an ex-brother-in-law Who loved the environment of earth But could not reclaim the environment of his own heart And soon, left his wife and the area. But I am not here to judge today. Today, I march upward over lazy, slothful oaks; I count rings in trunks that seem like open faces and try to relive the life of a Tree. Can anyone do that? Speckled green and white lichen decorate mortally wounded trees, Resting with ears pressed against the soft Brown autumn carpet. I see bare blueberry bushes, Denuded and frozen in hardened sunlight Purple in the quiet and stillness, They suggest a New Years Eve Celebration – When the ball has dropped And the champagne is popped And confetti flies – Limbs flagrant and spontaneous, Locked into positions, Calling me; Waiting for me to pass by and take notice. The thickness of wrinkled tree bark, Bent and splintered, twisted and gray Is like some Civil War battlefield, Evoking ghosts of something wild, Some bravado of nature at her very worst; “Something courageous has happened here,” I think. There, up ahead, an Irish Setter the size of a small bear chases a tennis ball tumbles down the path to greet me – the dog’s owners descend As I ascend, and we meet To discuss the plight of wounded deer in the woods And trapped, injured animals And writing and poetry – They tell me to be on the look out for an owl With a heart shaped face – So I watch My breathing stills So that I may see such a creature – My heart is lifted When we part, And a newer, larger nearly yellow dog approaches - I am his brother. I do not stare at him directly, For I do not want to challenge him – This land is his and I am the stranger; I intrude with every breath. Still, I look for the owl With the heart shaped face, But do not see her. There is now a boastful wind among the Pines That stand so erect, With no idea of correction; The dull waving of evergreen Announces the wind like royalty. For the wind, too, is my brother And I do not want to look into its eyes either; I stand by broken pine and the wood Mourns soulfully; The wind coaxes sad songs From the pine: “I am broken and used”. And the sad melody moves me With the compassion of a mystic. Crows as dark as pitch Wrap cold air around themselves And slide down among the shadows, Expanding the distance of the demur rolling hills. Apple trees with rickety twisted arms Sneer and make fun of me As if holding their hands to their ears And taunting me the way children do. Playful streams Full of meandering spirit, Are stopped dead On their backs, flat and serpentine Willy-nilly, like kids playing freeze tag – Like Lot’s wife, turned to salt – These are turned to Ice With a single glare of Winter’s stare. Suddenly, there is the embrace of stillness. The flaxen grasses unfold before Mt. Tom’s head held upright Aloof and does not care a whit what goes on below. I pass the tired Oldsmobile hubcap And wonder if it will be missed – Does anyone know it sits here at all? Even the trash seems so sad now. The downhill road now spills me out Like a giant black tongue Back down to where I started. As I pass an angry red “POSTED” sign Which warns: “Keep out!” “You don’t belong” “No Hunting” I hunt only Beauty. Surely I do not need my hunter’s orange cap for this. But I hunt beauty in reverse. I let Beauty stalk me quietly, I let her kill me And make me into a holiday dinner – A feast for everyone, The way I am changed when I walk among these hills The bragging wind shrieks around a telephone wire – And asks me what is it I seek in all this emptiness And I respond, “Yes! That is it! That is it!” I have made a New Year’s Resolution That I should walk these shy hills On the first day of each New Year. I have not asked you to walk with me, But perhaps you will. For though we are men, Today we are gods. There is much yet to suffer, I will be courageous; There is much yet to build, I will be industrious; There is much to forgive, I will be gracious; For it would be a shameful thing to pass another year Without making something new for my children. It would be shameful to die Without leaving something behind. Jan 2005