April 20, 2009

Last day in Exeter I thought I was going to church, but instead turned my steps toward the woods along the Exeter River, where I wandered in days of yore. I recognized nothing. I didn’t even remember the route I took to get to the wilderness, but only the general direction. It was totally new to me, though I recognized the feel of the land and the slant of spring light. Came across a gang of very large men exercising strenuously. They turned out to be the “semi-professional football” team, the Seacoast Vipers. I didn’t ask what “semi-professional” meant. They were running dashes–40 yards, then more–and I thought that anything that got in the path of such bulk running at the impressive speeds they were managing would be caromed away into the depths of the woods. I wandered the interior what must be a not very substantial wilderness. Water lay everywhere, with ducks gliding silently across the black surface. At one point, I had a sensation of profound archetypal resonance. I stood still amid the trees, and around me frogs sang in ponds and ditches I could not see through the tangled growth. The colors were gold and gray and high, stainless blue. It was wild and beautiful, and played the chord–deep with love and repetition by now– that such moments always sound in my heart. As is the way of these things, I never reached the wild singers, for they were watchful, and go silent as anyone approaches. But it you stand quite still, back they come again.

The flights were without incident, except for my sitting with the mother of one of DJ’s former students, who sang his praises.