We move in strange directions,
like the rain’s taken a turn over the lake.
We hope it waits,
but we’ll risk it and our long eyes
for a chance at unfamiliar.
And I could say that I am no angel.
And you could say that you are no savior.
We could lie and lie and lie,
as if words meant nothing.
But I want to feel what you feel.
And I want you to know what I know —
how I was wrong about not-needing.
There might be nothing solid or steady
about the water’s surface:
The visitors come and stay
or come and go —
lucky days, lucky weeks, lucky months or more.
there is an undeniable force of permanence.
This is where we place our faith.
blue jay. judgement vs. strength. the lion waiting in the dream. walnuts join the cottonwoods, both brazen, unlike the oaks that wait until the last minute for a subtle blaze. asters seem to love this weather best. when did the redwings go, or did they? 11 robins disappear in your direction. sun fighting the edge of a storm. looks like it could turn any second. my shirt is buttoned crooked. is it still possible for people to become things just because they want to become those things? emily dickinson, naturalist? if we could only shake the clock. milkweed bugs. you have to accept that you will die before you’re done. goldfinches have completely changed color now. i want to tell the truth. walk out to stand among the bluestem. it takes little time to disappear. i can’t tell who’s indulging whom now. the rain is going to catch me, but i have to see if the pelicans are gone yet. redwing. 3 cormorants. 8 egrets. 2 blue herons. 5 wood ducks. 2 sandhill cranes. 23 canada geese. 19 white pelicans.
fieldnotes was written at the Marsh beginning Sept. 26, 2016 and ending near the same time in the following year, collected in memo books over the course of many rambling walks.
Beginning on Sept. 26, 2019, three years after the writing, fieldnotes will be published in its entirety, with posts appearing as the corresponding write-dates occur.
(at least to the best of my ability)