Alum Cave Trail & Mt. LeConte

In the beginning.

The Alum Cave

The trail gets interesting.

And we climb.

And the fog rolls in.

And it keeps rolling.

And the trail becomes more interesting.

But five miles later we reach the Mt. LeConte Lodge.

Our back door.

The dining hall.

Front porch.

Other folks' cabins.

So it rained during the night.

We were treated to waterfalls on the hike back down.

Beautiful, but soaking wet feet.

All in all, absolutely worth it.

The Vine That Ate The South

We found our way up to the cabin in the dark last night.

A little scary.

(This isn't it. This is what I found on my morning walk. Kudzu.)

The power was out until two seconds after

Gene singed his eyebrows lighting the gas grill in the dark.

There was a flash of the grill igniting and then suddenly full power.

This morning there has been a bird outside screeching in the rain.

We don't know who.

Oh Very Young

The Finlander and I are heading out in the morning for a week long celebration of Anniversary 25, so I thought before we left I would run up to the Walmart, scan a few wedding pics, and post them on the blog. But the great American outpost has failed me. The clerk was happy to scan away those pics of Gene and I looking oh very young and somewhat dazed, but she couldn't quite grasp the technology of simply saving them to my thumb drive without making prints. You'll have to use your imagination. We were stunning, perky, etc. Ah, well.

I'm going to have to use my imagination, too, it seems, to envision it. I feel like a woman out of context, looking at those pictures. It was September 28th, 1985, late in the afternoon, 4-something, I think. The temperature was mild. The skies were blue. I remember the wedding invitations read, "Hear ye, hear ye, it has been proclaimed," etc. Later, there was dancing & drinking & smoking, etc. The next day I remember thinking, well, this will be an adventure. Yes, indeed. And now here we are in an entirely different context, wondering what the next 25 years will bring.

Schuyler

I'm loving James Schuyler Collected Poems, loving the ease with which he narrates/navigates. Here's a piece from The Morning of the Poem.

This Dark Apartment

Coming from the deli
a block away today I
saw the UN building
shine and in all the
months and years I've
lived in this apartment
I took so you and I
would have a place to
meet I never noticed
that it was in my view.

I remember very well
the morning I walked in
and found you in bed
with X. He dressed
and left. You dressed
too. I said, "Stay
five minutes." You
did. You said, "That's
the way it is." It
was not much of a surprise.

Then X got on speed
and ripped off an
antique chest and an
air conditioner, etc.
After he was gone and
you had changed the
Segal lock, I asked
you on the phone, "Can't
you be content with
your wife and me?" "I'm
not built that way,"
you said. No surprise.

Now, without saying
why, you've let me go.
You don't return my
calls, who used to call
me almost every evening
when I lived in the coun-
try. "Hasn't he told you
why?" "No, and I doubt he
ever will." Goodbye. It's
mysterious and frustrating.

How I wish you would come
back! I could tell
you how, when I lived
on East 49th, first
with Frank and then with John,
we had a lovely view of
the UN building and the
Beekman Towers. They
were not my lovers, though.
You were. You said so.

Owls & Trees

A new house is going up across the street.

I like the sounds of house building, but still

I imagine that all those years ago

I should have planted many more trees.

000

In other news, the barred owl is still hooting, but I haven't seen him,

despite being outside in the middle of the night, in my pajamas, with a flashlight.

Some cooperation would be appreciated.

Who Cooks For You?

A good bird week.

A barred owl has found a resting place in our tiny woods. All week long he's been calling, Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you-all? Gene heard him first, but now I've heard him, too. Of course I want to see him! The dogs and I also found a green heron fishing in Baugo Park several days in a row by the duckweed pond and Gene and I saw a blue heron fishing over at Cobus Creek Park. Can I write the barred owl in my bird watching book if I only heard him? It was unmistakable. He's the only one that cooks for you. Hmm...

As You Were Seeing Him

Q. I think we have to take Mr. R. as you were seeing him.
A. I think that I assessed Mr. R. as I assess all my patients, as a total human being with other organs besides a heart.

Lying Into Fall

Fall. Everyone is back in school, the house is empty & I've been fortunate enough to borrow some books that engage me to the nth degree. I give thanks to the book lending gods that happen upon my way. Last week Jack Gilbert's Monolithos gave my mind motion. Love this:

Poetry Is A Kind Of Lying

Poetry is a kind of lying,
necessarily. To profit the poet
or beauty. But also in
that the truth may be told only so.

Those who, admirably, refuse
to falsify (as those who will not
risk pretensions) are excluded
from saying even so much.

Degas said he didn't paint
what he saw, but what
would enable them to see
the thing he had.

In The Fawn Light Leavening

Sent away.