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Showing posts from December, 2021

The Art of Memory

  The Art of Memory When we can traverse the plains of memory, stopping at each fire to warm ourselves before we start again on our journey, there is a world inside a world that keeps going on to infinity.  If we are lucky enough to hear the eternal melody that is at work in these moments, many fine hours may come upon us.   But sometimes the solace and hospitality are too much and we live with our new found companions, taking them along wherever we go, as a shadow upon our eyes.  The memories of Thoreau, or the early frontier narratives of Indian captivity, are something that I have felt eternal and unchangeable in human nature, not for any piece of information they have given me, but because my melancholy has always found peace in their environment.  For some the world is old or the world is new, but the point is that we tend to look at it through memory.  One memorable event confounds all future celebrations; we remember so as not to forget, but we do not remember that we are able t

A Poet's Journal: April 16th, 2015

  April 16th, 2015 Hiking yesterday along the coast; the water clear blue, turquoise in the shallows.  It was warm, but the air felt of the frozen north.  A man came up to us and talked of the particular formations of sandstone, of a deep orange or yellow and porous, some able to be climbed into as a shelter, others with the fossilized remains of ancient marine life.  All along the trail are green prairies that fall deeply into the ocean and these, seen at a distance, seem to reflect the turquoise of the coves, contrasting with the dark limestone at the shore's edge, enough to think upon profound subjects and lose them in their eternity.  The maritime pines were letting out their pollen with each slight gust of wind and on the way back we found a new growth of mint, taken for an evening tea. Douglas Thornton