The Green White Line
It is strange to know how the search for (or the certainty
of) this steady green brilliant line to the heart continues to keep some of us
from going away on sojourn for good; continues to keep some of our hearts from
breaking.
We’ve had unusual snow cover now for a couple of weeks. Our
green line has turned to white lace and ice for now. And again today we’ve had a rare raw cold and
beautiful snow and wind day.
The geese are very quiet, holding together against the
Northeaster that blows cold ice snow white across the copper gold tall grasses,
toward the West against the Sun. It is
this stillness, this clear white boundary to copper grass movement – it is this
wispy swaying gray of clouds of snow.
Old cars, junk, stored boats in their tight blue Winter
wraps between me and the beauty, so I imagine.
And we make our boots into huge flat snow shoes so as to
give our Wild Willie, the slow cat a chance to walk with us. The six of us, me, you, Posho, Beans, Big
Foot and slow Willie falling and trampling across the fields, enchanted by all
this sculptured crackly white lace. The
green white line holds our hearts together for a while.
But soon the muddy footprints of deer, rabbit, dog, cat,
bird and people alike start to set all nice feelings about snow and ice into a
dirty semi-urban slushy nightmare, an ocean of mud without the benefit of
concrete pavement.
There, in a nutshell, we are back to daylight, we are back
to the Shore, we are back to this South.
Ew 2/3/2000 revisited 10/27/2013
Beneath the line
Remembering dead You, Posho, Beans, Big Foot and Wild Willie
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