Friday, January 11, 2008

Sixteen Weeks

Sixteen long long weeks. Let me see. Sixteen multiplied by seven equals one hundred and twelve. One hundred and twelve days since I last saw the great love of my life on the footpath outside the terminal at JFK airport. For the first few years of this relationship we used to wallow in our reluctant farewells; spinning them out to the last possible minute and savouring them like a delectable and addictive food we knew would later lead to heartburn. With a voice every bit as strong as her persona it was easy for her to follow me through security and into the corridors beyond with the words "I love you!" But then one day it came time to take control of these angst ridden airport scenes. Now we treat them as if I am heading off on a day trip. The great love of my life swings by the airport terminal doors in New York, offloads my bags from her car, envelops me within the safety of her arms for one brief and desperate moment, and then I turn my back and walk away. To begin my long lonely flight to the other side of the world.

Friday, January 4, 2008

To Live The Poetic Life

One of my blogging friends asked in a recent post "What does it mean to live the poetic life?" There will be as many answers to this question as there are poets but for my part it means rising early with a mind to capturing the tenderness of the morning dew. Just as I did this morning. (Photo By Helen)

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

Thanks Be To This Man!


New Zealand is I believe the first country in the world to see the light of both the new day and of the New Year. For me the opening moment of 2008 here in New Zealand were spent in silence and solitude and marked by my personal prayers for peace. Eighteen hours later East Coast America rolled on into 2008. This second New Years celebration was for me a much more gregarious affair! Though I was not physically there my voice and my laughter still resonated through our American home, courtesy of Alexander Graham Bell and his miraculous invention! While I sat on my bed in New Zealand in a room bathed in late afternoon sunlight with all my windows wide open and a glass of cool New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc in hand my American love, our friend and our five cats piled under blankets as the temperature plunged and snow fell out there in my beloved woods just beyond the french doors. There can be no greater contrast, surely, than midsummer sun and snowflakes and no greater indicator of the vast distance that lies between us. Yet when midnight struck on the East Coast of America it was as if we were both together in the same room. Because of the telephone she felt so close it was as if I could reach out and touch her.