WE'RE OFF

Inspiration will be forthcoming, from an island in Maine. As regularly as I can manage.

MATTER OF SCALE

- Ricky Colson

SEATTLE, DRY FOR 35 DAYS

RAIN

We expect the sun, daily, as our due. We do not function well in rain. We allow it to dictate our activity, our interactions, it is a dynamic we cannot control. It occupies our thoughts, our calendars, our dialog, our disposition. The rain is our rationale for inertia. It has its way with us.

We don't know monsoons.

WHERE DOES THE DANCE BEGIN, WHERE DOES IT END?

Don't call this world adorable, or useful, that's not it.

It's frisky, and a theater for more than fair winds.

The eyelash of lightning is neither good nor evil.

The struck tree burns like a pillar of gold.

But the blue rain sinks, straight to the

white feet of the trees

whose mouths open.

Doesn't the wind, turning in circles, invent the dance?

Haven't the flowers moved, slowly, across Asia, then Europe,

until at last, now, they shine

in your own yard?

Don't call this world an explanation, or even an education.

When the Sufi poet whirled, was he looking

outward, to the mountains so solidly there

in a white-capped ring, or was he looking

to the center of everything: the seed, the egg, the idea

that was also there,

beautiful as a thumb

curved and touching the finger, tenderly,

little love-ring,

as he whirled,

oh jug of breath,

in the garden of dust?

Mary Oliver, from "Why I Wake Early", 2004

FATHER IMAGERY

We'll think of

our fathers

and

know the answer.