Taking no prisoners. Including herself.

A MULTI-PART EXPLORATION ON WHETHER PEOPLE CHANGE, THROUGH THE COMPLETELY UN-SYSTEMATIC ANALYSIS OF PERSONAL ITEMS FOUND IN SHANNON DEJONG’S “SPECIAL BOX” AND ASSORTED CHILDHOOD MEMORABILIA*[1] — AND OTHER STUFF, TOO

Part III

yosemite.jpgNature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
– Robert Frost
* * *

headlights.jpg

Returning from an exciting road trip full of back-country camping (and motel-dwelling… O, the rain!) trail-hiking, Beethoven-listening and poetry-reading through California’s Big Sur, the Central Valley, and Yosemite, your temporarily absent (but ever-mindful) author muses on the present theme of change:

Trinkety, these moments are never quite the same.
Nature’s seasons shift in soft tufts – this, Her subtle game: whispering Transformation behind our fickle ears – kissing necks with Spring’s pink lips, sensuality rolling out the years – but when we turn to gaze upon our warmly kissed nape, it’s but Winter’s icy mouth we see smiling back agape.

And as such – Season’s changing breath breathes heavy sighs against Landscape’s barren body to yield a trembling sprout anew; fresh crop reaching into Tomorrow for what it already knew; and, gleeful, grabs hold of what already Yesterday grew – blooming, bursting forth then bending back; stretching itself, jackknifed, onto that Life-Death rack – folding in on itself until Season’s exhale comes to rest, leaving again the Earth topless and undressed – breath sucking back the riches of the landscape into Her newly, hot, mouth.

How, then, can time, Nature, the land – EveryThing -
fill itself with substance molten, to Itself bring
a lava-impermanence, a matter that continually flakes
into air that forms again Her breath – and breaks
the Forever – and ourselves not follow suit? True -
there is a sameness woven through -
a single thread of consistency bows to
Familiarity, also to say we .do
.not .change -well… this is like saying we breath
in
one

(1)
direction.

* * *

Thanks for tuning in despite recent void in posts – but never fear, Dear Readers! Your humble author, although suffering from an ongoing affliction of Change (called Transitionitis Ruralus-Relaxinus with symptoms of WritingTravelBoySleepEat:Life), forgets you not! Check back in for at least 1.5 more installments of IN FLUX: DO PEOPLE CHANGE?

yo_hike.jpg
Change is inevitable, yo.

*[1]Quite possibly the most lengthy and self-indulgent blog posting on NKS to date

§279 · February 12, 2007 · Poetry · · [Print]

1 Comment to “IN FLUX 3”

  1. Nigel Forthwith Pinkerton De La Mancha says:

    What’s this!?
    Return
    {forthwith}
    to the car
    .this .moment – !

    F o
    l(l)
    o W
    m
    y
    H a
    N
    d
    t o
    G L R
    Y!

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