Bright and sunny, the water sparkling, a few people on the beach, a couple of them even walking barefoot. Sometimes I think there are two kinds of people: those who know how to enjoy natural beauty and those who think it's an effort to go for a walk on a beautiful day. I met a man as I walked who said, "How's it feel to be in paradise!" "Fabulous," I answered.
Here is a prose poem by Jim Harison, who I mostly know as a most interesting novelist. He is a person--as I think most poets are--who knows how to enjoy a nature.
Because of the late, cold
wet spring the fruit of greenness is suddenly upon us so that in Montana you
can throw yourself down just about anywhere on a green grassy bed, snooze on
the riverbank and wake up to a yellow-rumped warbler flittering close to your
head then sipping a little standing water from a moose track. Of course
pitching yourself downward you first look for hidden rocks. Nothing in nature
is exactly suited to us. Meanwhile everywhere cows are napping from overeating,
and their frolicsome calves don’t remember anything except this bounty. And
tonight the calves will stare at the full moon glistening off the mountain
snow, both snow and moon white as their mother’s milk. This year the moisture
has made the peonies outside my studio so heavy that they droopo to the ground
and I think of my early love, Emily Bronte. The cruelty of our different ages
kept us apart.I tie and prop up the
peonies to prolong their lives, just as I would have nursed Emily so she could see another spring.
The mid-70s are a surprise! Part of me remains in the 50s -- age, I mean, not decade of 20th century. It's a joy ride, new experiences land in my lap and I've become a better quilter, poet, writer than I expected. It's a rich life for a person never rich financially. Hey, this is what the mid-70s are like!