This morning, as I was looking out my window at all the "sundry" grayness, a bald eagle and a seagull came out of nowhere and flew right up to my window. They chased each other around for awhile, before the eagle took off toward Chuckanut Mountain. Bald eagles are all over the place just east of here, along the Nooksack River, but I've never seen one right in Bellingham. So naturally, this is the poem for today:
Settling
I was welcomed here - clear gold
of late summer, of opening autumn,
the dawn eagle sunning himself on the highest tree,
the mountain revealing herself unclouded, her snow
tinted apricot as she looked west,
tolerant, in her steadfastness, of the restless sun
forever rising and setting.
Now I am given
a taste of the grey foretold by all and sundry,
a grey both heavy and chill. I've boasted I would not care,
I'm London-born. And I won't. I'll dig in,
into my days, having come here to live, not to visit.
Grey is the price
of neighboring with eagles, of knowing
a mountain's vast presence, seen or unseen.
- Denise Levertov
No comments:
Post a Comment