OUT HERE
the flesh wears out, joints wear thin.
A man must learn to look ahead
and down at the same time –
slow-going for the stiff-necked.
Out here, it doesn’t matter much
where you’ve been, who you know –
no one cares. The rain gods own
this ground, you’ll soon find out -
here, no one figures getting old,
getting ahead enough to quit
what we’ve always done:
staying even with the landscape.
Out here, we choose privacy,
guard our space and distrust
all things new, slow to change
who’ve we become.
Thinking of the Gathering, Robbin and I wish we were among our friends, our other family. I can imagine the hoopla and hugging at breakfast after last night’s first handshakes, bought drinks, etc. Looking forward to Hank’s keynote I hope to hell’s on tape online, we’ll miss it live as we’ll miss you all! Have a great Gathering!
Comments
Dang--and I was going to pay you that dollar I owe you, but you and Robbin and Pat and I aren't there. All the more reason to go next year.
Posted by: Sharon | January 28, 2010 8:59 PM
where the hell are ya? Was really looking forward to seeing you, but I know it has to be something big for you not to be here...Hope everything is okay...your old garden center hag! Maybe see you this summer
Posted by: Stacy | January 29, 2010 8:47 AM