Here with love

Dad and guitar2

He came here with a love
carved a patch of ground out scrub poplar and willows
dug a dugout
drove posts in stony soil
played his guitar at dusk
at twilight wandered far venues
wondered
met hazel eyes
loved her
wrestled together a house

he came here with love
drew out children from that patch of ground
gave, prayed
laughed, yodeled, laughed
mulled, lingered
cried, stood resolute, pained
moved, came back to lands nape
made deep furrows in its lap
planted his flesh
left a grove of love

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The air breathes for you

Outside. Dark. Movement overhead. A bat, zigzags after mosquitoes. Then in the distance, lightening. Tricks of light. Steady strobing but barely perceptible.

Inside our windowed cabin: Closer. Then close–freezing the leaves and sway of trees in a timeless white second. Then the low roll, a crescendo, then a clap that shakes the cutlery.

My wife stays asleep at my side. All a-tangle and at peace in these oft-mended sheets of light we’ve shared for 23 years, today.

mossyroof A burst of rain hits the tops of trees then down on our mossy roof. Then the helter-skelter ruckus of heavy raindrops bouncing on dry sod, glancing off poplar bark, spraying on dogwood. Soon, it all tapers to soft, polite, applause. And then the F clef notes and fading flashes, like receding footfalls and a swinging lantern. Then it’s over.

The sun broke hazy. The night storm had moved through leaving high overcast skies.

Outside. Full, petrichor. The air breathes for you.

Soft dewy light, pastel pines, and water-colour birch bark. The stone step damp and sated. And and the grass, needles, and leaves, still beaded and glistening in a perfumed breeze. And I am given to Wordsworth’s daffodils. The inward eye, quick as lighting and as illuminating, taking in far more than can be expressed.

I’m all a-tangle in these elms. I could just as well forget to unlace myself and not take the lane out.

Olive trees burned in “Price-tag Policy”

The "price-tag policy," a vow by hard-line Israeli settlers to inflict a "price" every time one West Bank outpost is dismantled, seems to be effective against both the West Bank Palestinians and the Israeli government. Never mind that the settlements are illegal, never mind that even if they were legal, the settlements have far outpaced population increase and natural settlement.

It’s a win-win for the settlers. They get their revenge looked after while preparing to  appropriate more Palestinian land, and, they make settlersburntreesNetanyahu’s government think twice about taking down more outposts. And in this little twist, the Israeli government can convince itself of its benevolence towards Palestinian farmers by easing up on any further dismantling.

(Left: June, 2009 AFP photo of illegal setters burning Palestinian fields.)

Yesterday the "price-tag" came in the form of 30 or so Israeli settlers on horseback, taking to Palestinian olive grooves with torches and burning down an estimated 1500 trees and injuring a few Palestinian’s in the process.

Farmers themselves, the settlers know the cost of their actions. Olive trees take a decade or more to establish themselves and produce fruit. Destroying Palestinian farmer’s olive trees is like cutting off the hands of a cabinet maker and leaving him to ponder his fate—his state.

But for the settlers, any discomfort with conscience is quickly rationalized by a perceived 2000-plus year old entitlement to the West Bank. Religious Zionists have been at the forefront of the settlement movement and they see their presence there as fulfilling a biblical mandate preparing and quickening the coming of the Messiah. They believe it’s their self-appointed role to resettle the Land of Israel, ushering in a theocratic Jewish state, where in ancient times, Jewish kingdoms existed. So it is that many Zionist settlements are founded around biblical sites, supposedly justifying their presence and giving them a sense of connection with their biblical roots.

So Palestinian roots, and Palestinian rights can be torn up, and quite literally, burned. And in the meantime the settlements continue under Binyamin Netanyahu’s watch despite an Israeli freeze, and despite pressure from Obama and Brown.

The Peace of Wild Things

Landscapes go unnoticed in the undertow of everyday confusions.

When a small worry insinuates, when the wind comes up, and a discarded bottle whistles in the gutter, when I’m unable to remember a name, and when the screen flickers and a program fails to load–in mundane anxiety and tiny losses, the earth cools to me and cloud formations fail my gaze.

No yellow lights flash–just the sense of a slow seeping ambiguity toward my own alienation…

…And so I’m grateful for a friend’s reminder of the poetry of Wendell Berry:

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

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