2022

 

January 1, 2022

First words out of my mouth were “Rabbit. Rabbit.” That’s a big deal around here. The Usual company zoomed in the New Year, remembering the years when we could do it in my living room. 

First dream of the New Year: I was part of a group of faculty trying to sell a mob of students on a new Humanities text. We went to huge full auditoriums enumerating the virtues of the book, all the while I’m thinking, “They’ll read whatever we assign, so why all this bother?” One person– ghostly, appearing out of nowhere– opposed the text on purely mystical grounds which he could not explain but which he insisted upon. 

First deed of the day was to write a poem about Maud’s empty food bowl. When you’re on, anything turns into poetry. Filled it. Cleaned her litter box. She stares at me now with a look of vague approval. 

First hike of the New Year from Hard Times Gap under the bridge and north from there, to the land of perfect hemlock trees. A measure of the day is that people were picnicking at the Parkway pullovers. Exceeded my FitBit step goal on the first day of the year. Saw not on single bird, and came to resent the binoculars banging against my chest. The extreme silence of that path made the appearance of other hikers–joggers, actually– the more surprising. Because I go so slow it’s my duty to stand aside for the fast lane, even in the narrow places. Standing aside for a jogging girl in turquoise and her dog, I began to fall down the wet slope. I caught myself. She came near and patted my arms and asked if I were sure I was OK. I said yes, but in fact one is never sure. Rednecks on their new motorbikes broke the silence as one neared the bridge. My thoughts were excellently pure during the hike– which is to say, practically not there at all–but I did think a moment about poetry. The poetry of my youth was Praise. The poetry of my maturity was Anger. The poetry of my old age is Analysis.