There is mist lying low on the hill above the farm. It flows before sunrise in rivers among the tall grass. In the rose-colored light it presents a glistening dew and touches with grace each spiderweb, highlighting the countless numbers.
Turning my gaze away for only minutes, I look back to find that it is already gone. It has receded now into the lower reaches of the valley, vanishing, as mysterious in its departing as its arriving, revealing in its ebbing, in the high hay of the hill pasture, a doe and her spring fawn. Surprised as I am, naked to the growing light, she is not: she bounds gracefully out of sight, followed by her offspring. Now left alone, except for my dogs, who root through the scuppernong vines for opossums who left their own leaving until too late, I sit.
Gradually, to my ears, comes the faint thrum of traffic, ten miles distant, winding its way through the various valleys and over the slanting ridges. Motor life returns to a workday rhythm after the holiday, pulsing through the outlying blood vessels into the city, draining the countryside of purpose other than that of a traveler’s inn, of sorts, for greed and accumulation.
Is this our fate, I wonder? A mere warehouse of life purposed toward temporary gain. To drive past lost meanings in the lay of the land, unable even to parse the text of an old dying fencerow, eddying like mist around an old barn in the hollow before retreating to some dank cubicle to cross off our days remaining.
In this aging epoch of ours, is it too late to envision a return to something different? Is there a rite, an investiture in the holy office of simple labor, a smoking censer swinging high and low that would cleanse our mess with a restorative blessing, allowing us to stay, to work on and with the earth? Would any supplication now offered find a listening and sympathetic ear?
Does our lover even love us anymore? Spurned for so long, paved over and ignored, gouged and robbed, would she still have us? Even want us? Always we acted as the domestic abuser, so will our promises of changed behavior now be believed?
We should have known, could have read the marriage register held deep in the vaults, that she had dallied with five other lovers and outlived each. That record telling of a vast patience, taught over four and half billion years.
Taught, that even now she has already conspired with her next consort to bury us deep in the rock.
We are mists, vanishing.
Too often I have wondered the same, friend.
Too often I have awakened in despair at the thought of dragging myself back to that workaday hell. So I quit — I walked away, for the better part of two years, and stayed home, working on my beloved little sliver of land.
But now I see no choice but to return, for I cannot live on a tiny harvest alone.
I can only hope, and pray, to find a decent place within the massive money machine.
Thanks for your writings.
You are welcome, it is tough (and that should be a warning to the larger population) to tease out a living from the land. Good for you for giving it a shot. Leaving the land behind, I’m sure, was painful.
My best,
Thanks for your kind reply. Yes, it is tough — and makes for toughness as one goes.
On a happier note, I’ve not left the land behind. Still here, working slowly to finish my tiny house, and sticking with the little garden and maybe some chickens next year. Just not free yet to make life on this land my full-time sole concern.
I echo the commenters below who praise your gift of chronicling the beauty and challenge of this way of living in the world!
Cheers to you.
Excellent!
That sounds about right, as hard to accept as it is. But accepting our self prescribed fate somehow eases the burden. Or so I hope.
Funny but I never doubt that humanity is loved. I wonder…is it perhaps easier for a woman to understand and accept? We who have carried life in our womb, who go through such terrible pain to birth new life. We watch our children grow up and leave us, pained by the reality that we are no longer needed. We are proud of their accomplishments but never stop fearing their mistakes, the pain and suffering that might touch them.
Perhaps children are a burden that only a mother can truly love just as they are. Humans are still children searching for our way in life. We are a burden on the earth; beautiful in our abilities yet terrible in our ignorance. Life and death are certain, but in-between resides the sum of our choices. And our mother is always there….
Indeed, David.
Cheers,
How can you even wonder if She loves us still? Your words describing the ephemeral mist, the spider webs hanging with dew…so poetic and lovely. It is so obvious from your writings Brian that you live a life that is filled with your awareness and appreciation of the earth’s beauty. Your love does not go unnoticed! I think it is a only sadness she feels when we lose sight of what is important, when we forget to occasionally stop and drink from a fountain of blissful repose. But her patience is endless. Her love boundless. Her storms thunderous. Yes…every moment is fleeting and ephemeral. Joy is followed with sadness. Pleasure with pain. The endless cycle of life continues in all its painful splendor.
Thanks for the kind remarks. I do see a difference between appreciating her beauty and knowing that that awareness won’t temper the outcome. I’m often reminded of the line in Pride and Prejudice, where the father, feeling shame, says “but, this too will pass and sooner than it ought too.” 🙂
Cheers,
I always liked that remark too. It showed his humility along with a good understanding of his own short comings.
We really don’t know what the future will bring. I know that our problems today seem so large…much larger than ever before. Everywhere we look we can look we can see pain and misery. But I think we also are capable of finding beauty in everyday moments such the walk in the morning you have described above. And it is these moments that give richness to life. Sharing that richness with others is your gift, Brian.
We can choose to see beauty in the world even in places we never expected it. Most days I’m convinced that humanity has gone too far and the outcome is unavoidable. But then I recall the prayer that our minister always ended each service with.
“The Lord bless you and keep you;
The Lord make His face shine down upon you,
And be gracious to you;
The Lord lift up His countenance upon you,
And give you peace.”
It always made me feel blessed, as if there was this light from heaven shining down on me and bathing me in love. According to Bible history, the Lord told Moses to tell Aaron to give this blessing to his people, the Israelites who had left Egypt and were struggling with finding direction in life. Slaves for generation they were now free and didn’t know what to do with life.
I’ve thought about this prayer so many times and each time it feeling like a blessing. I think it’s a reminder that we are capable of being loved, that God or the universe is capable of being kind to us, that there is a power in the universe that can lift us up and change our fate. Faith of a mustard seed….can move the mountain.
So I think prayer never hurts and faith is a blessing. I am Buddhist enough to accept whatever will be will be. But I love this prayer and I cling to this idea that there are people who love the earth and see and communicate her beauty…God, Mother Earth, the universe (whatever name we choose) does respond to our prayers. We are lifted up. We move on into another day.
“beautiful in our abilities yet terrible in our ignorance.” that is perfect, Jody.