fieldnotes 11.29.16

Waiting

With no clear sight then,
I cannot say I knew content —
but oh, the safety of delusion,
until resignation becomes disruption.

It is not schizophrenia.

(…the unending curse, not of misinterpretation but worse — the absence of a common language…)

It is colder than I thought —
the wet iron cold of deep November
but with sun still in it
as the wind rattles their tops,
what used to be flowers,
on these days when the coyotes know us.
And the oaks are nearly naked now.

None of these ever learned to resist winter.

We need more of what each other has.
Like looking in a mirror,
each with too much and not enough,
alone and not.

And within these means of confinement —
still —
the world just keeps getting bigger
and more beautiful than we ever imagined.

Despite the way I keep stumbling
accidental cockleburs and thorns —

(…how in winter, the thorns turn too,
red and blue so we can see…)

and after all this time,
I am finally learning to carry the prairie with me.

You taught me that.


11.29.16
(57/44)

‘the best and the very worst thing’
10 shovelers. flock of grebes comes in. this is not schizophrenia. robin. how as the goldenrod’s leaves die back, a million things that grew in between are revealed. chickadee. 3 geese. then 9 geese. all in the air. muddy going into the woods, and the pond is high and birdless today. river flooded and running into the overflow. cardinals. mallards at the riverbend. slip into the woods by Old Twisty for a rest stop. go ahead and make a proper visit to the Hand Tree. try to avoid cockleburs. mostly succeed. that hunger is a virtue. (he sits. he eats. he drinks. he sleeps.) redbellied woodpecker. nuthatch. shovelers and shovelers and shovelers. 2 coopers hawks. couple out to spot pelicans. i hate to tell them they’re too lat,e but they are. by the time i’m on my way out, it’s getting warm. properly warm. unseasonal warm.

Notes:
Quote 1 (best, worst): Dave Ramont / ‘Lisanne’ from Taw (2009)


about fieldnotes

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)

Author: Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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