July 21, 2018

Yesterday’s sojourn to Akron was bountiful. Took photos of all the homeplaces, spent a chunk of time in Maytree. As I entered Maytree I saw three graceful deer enter with me. Later one played peek-a-boo with one of them, each of us curious, uncertain how or whether to approach. Three human fishermen and a heron peopled the edge of Alder Pond. Because of the men I couldn’t linger so long as I wanted to, doing nothing in particular. The heron would have honored that. Sat at the edge of the Great Green and wrote a little. Downtown to drink coffee on empty Main Street and visit the perky little art museum. I wanted to tell everyone about the way it used to be.

Made sure I knew the way to the country club where the night’s reunions festivities were going to be, but when the time came I was oddly, briefly ill, and didn’t go.

The conviction of the interconnectedness and unity of my life continued and enlarged. Maytree was my first holy place, and as I entered it, it clearly was holy still. Seventy generations of cardinals had waited to chirp at me from the branches. Unity and holiness, yes, but not so much company. Reflected that no one expects me to call and report a safe landing. I don’t even know who that would be. The last time I did such a thing was to call John Cram from the beach at Edisto. He seemed confused. Anyway, one has the life one has. Trying to reason out why may be enlightening, but one does not expect it at this stage to change anything. Will the half palpable spirits crowding the air around me help when I am dying? I must think so. 

Off to Ellet High this morning, to tour it before they tear it down. I have not entered it—I don’t think—for fifty years and a month.