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Wednesday, September 19, 2012

a record of our days



These blog posts of mine, a record of our days.  A particular walk, one morning, with (as always) the dog, Ace.



A poem for the morning:


THE MANIFESTATION

BY THEODORE ROETHKE

Many arrivals make us live:  the tree becoming
Green, a bird tipping the topmost bough,
A seed pushing itself beyond itself,
the mole making its way through darkest ground,
The work, intrepid scholar of the soil - 
Do these analogies perplex? A sky with clouds,
The motion of the moon, and waves at play,
A sea-wind pausing in a summer tree.

What does what it should do needs nothing more.
The body moves, though slowly, toward desire.
We come to something without knowing why.






The dog, I think, is an intrepid scholar of the grass. Of the field. It's a good thing to watch a dog in a field, doing what he should do, what he's meant to do. He hunts, and smells, chases and is attentive to every little chirp and movement out there.














3 comments:

  1. "The dog, I think, is an intrepid scholar of the grass." -- perfect observation!
    tk

    ReplyDelete
  2. "The dog, I think, is an intrepid scholar of the grass." -- perfect observation!
    tk

    ReplyDelete
  3. when I lived on the prairies on our farm I too took numerous photos on our walks, especially of the dogs doing what they do best. I miss our dear Maggie. Being a springer spaniel she was the most effective and interesting in the fields. A keen nose, sharp eyes, constantly head down taking in scents, springing to see when she would get close, the vapid intensity of her movements when prey was nearly underfoot. The herding dogs learned to hunt from her. This makes me very nostalgic.

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