Archive
09/24/09 - (2)
Council Ring
Night's cool breath lingers in the grass's wetness, Yet I'm perspiring, midway through my spirited walk. It seems to be wisdom at its most sagacious — What village folks are saying about summer coming late. There's an extra lift in everybody's September-end gait,
Including mine, to be sure, As I press my unlimber legs not to their breaking point (Those physical restrictions imposed by aging) So much as to the maximum of their fastest capacity, Knowing that outpacing laziness makes the best sense.
Reaching the Council Ring in the noiseless boys' camp, With its rickety, splintery, unpainted plank benches And dilapidated, if commanding, totem pole, Standing, obelisk-like, over the stone-circumscribed firepit, I decide to deviate from my circuit, slow time down,
Try to take, from this sacred, tree-bowered space, A few numinous vibrations Doubtless waiting out here, in this wide, unviolated quietude, For me to appropriate, as memories or prophesies, Possibly both, depending on my powers of conjuration.
Without realizing why, As if caressingly possessed by spirits of the eighty-one years Since Camp Nebagamon awakened on these piney shores, I find myself walking, in measured circles, Three times counterclockwise, first, then three in reverse — My whole body a metronome Keeping beat to symphonies it composed so long ago, When living was more harmonious, forgiving. Soon, leaving my circles to their meditations, I reenter time, backtrack to my cabin,
Relegating my past to its gradually dissipating overtones, Reacquainting myself with who I am, this minute, Reveling in feeling the heated soreness in my feet, The tightness in my calves, the slight ache in my thighs, My lungs breathing another day through my bloodstream.
09/24/09 - (2)
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