Watch-Words: Kayaking

Protected areas in a certain swell; the bay's mouth in a certain swell: as long as we approach matters carefully and are ready with back-up plans or for less than ideal, we are ready to look and learn.

Just Shy Of Fifty-Two

I've outlived Keats, Shelley, and Byron by a considerable margin with not all that much to show for it.

The heat is on, then, to make the second half-century count.  I embrace the challenge.

Lines: evidence of time passing, though not of any mere passive passage of time.  Maps to the country of character, of mishap and what-have-you.  A lack of sunscreen, certainly; plenty of squinting into the sun, commuting, driving across bridges, kayaking and diving out in the glare.  Pool-time and sea-time too: dried skin from the chlorine and salt.  And all that reading, of course, the concentration above all those pages . . . .  And yet, and this is something I wear with pride: more smiles than anything, frankly.  There's an aspiration, don't you think?  Crease your face with good will and cheer, if you dare.  (I'm smiling as I type that.)

There's a poem by Robert Graves that comes to mind, though he was older when he wrote it.  I'll post it in a day or so.

This year I've written at least one poem worth keeping, and that's a fine judgment, a fine declaration.  More would be better, but then that's homework to be dealt with in the next few months.

Just now, right now, I am toasting all of us with a bit of Bushmills.  Carry on, and live as large as you can.

May the devil . . . oh, you know.  And, here's to King Brian in the interim.  I'm drinking Irish, after all.

Looking For Earthsea

There's the portal up ahead.  I just have to get there.

(Where's Le Guin's Sparrowhawk when you need him?)

"The story of the book is essentially a voyage, a pattern in the form of a long spiral.  I began to see the places where the young wizard would go.  Eventually I drew a map.  Now that I knew where everything was, now was the time for cartography.  Of course a great deal of it only appeared above water, as it were, in drawing the map."

--Ursula Le Guin, writing about the evolving, unfolding, organic genesis and composition of her masterpiece The Wizard of Earthsea in her essay "Dreams Must Explain Themselves," a worthy read in its own right.

Thank you, Ursula Le Guin, for sparking so many spiral journeys of the imagination.