The window lights,
my silent companions
on the night walks,
beacons, lighthouses,
signals from the spirits of the storm.
Are they on for me, for their distant
people?,
are they the signals of the spirits
and angels and witches
of the forest, the cherubs
of the storm,
the night demons and elves?
Sometimes, I close my eyes,
and I can hear their soft whispers,
follow the light,
follow the light.
“The Unplowed Road”
The unplowed road
lay before me,
I took it, the
path taken,
I thought as I slid and stumbled,
that the unplowed road
was rough, filled with ridges
and ruts, icy crust, buried rocks
and stones, it was neither straight
nor clear, predictable or sensible
neglected and ignored,
it went it’s own way, up and down,
each step
different from the last,
filled with surprises and unexpected twists
and turns,
I do not wonder about the path not taken
when I am on the unplowed road,
I look down and follow each step,
try to give my feet some guidance.
oh, I say to the unplowed road,
as the big plow clears the road up ahead,
I know you, you are my life.
Vermont, unlike the favored postcard images of it, is a very real place. It’s residents struggle to find secure jobs, they depend heavily on tourists, the state struggles with economic and social issues, especially poverty and problems with drugs.
But it is a beautiful state, an oasis, where people on the left and people on the right work together to solve problems rather than argue about them. Vermont rejects polarization, the state is always getting things done, it is a place of powerful community, people watch out for one another. Today, as we drove through the storm, a giant tree fell on a truck and blocked the road.
Cars backed up right away and I thought we would be there all night, but a bunch of people jumped out of their cars and set to work with saws and bare hands and cleared the tree and make sure everyone was all right. Very Vermont, people there don’t wait for the police to come to fix things.
When Maria and I want to rest or connect with nature and community, we go to Vermont, there are so many beautiful towns and villages free of malls and box stores and traffic jams, it is possible to imagine an different and simpler life.
Sometimes in Vermont, on nights like this, snow everywhere, people coming into the inn stomping their boots and shaking off the snow on their jackets, I expect Bing Crosby to pop out in front of the fireplace crooning holiday songs and carols. We are buried in snow, we will not be moving much tomorrow, this after, Maria and I walked for miles through the storm, i took some photos, she make some snow sculptures. Now, a reading job and rest. I made it up a very steep hill this morning, something I couldn’t have done five or six months ago. I was grateful for it, my my life, for my time here.
The report from Bedlam Farm is comforting, the dogs lounging by the fire, the cats in Deb Foster’s lap, the donkeys and sheep fed and dry out in the pole barn. I am grateful for every one of them.
Maria buys all of her clothes at thrift shops, I buy all of mine at Sam’s in Brattleboro, I get to go there two or three times a year for jeans, socks, sweaters and shirts. Candida is my fashion adviser – Sam’s is a block long institution founded in 1932 as an Army Navy store. It is my kind of store, I grabbed my camera when I saw Candida standing in front of the giant gloves rack, a colorful thing.
We were driving along a country road when our winter storm arrived and introduced herself, they are expecting 18 inches here, we are now holed up in our beautiful old inn for a day or so, nothing to do but sleep, read and walk around with my camera. Life is good.
