To Gillet Pond
To Gillet Pond
In wildness is the preservation of the world
-Thoreau
Find the trailhead beyond cell reach
How does one push through overwhelm? The news buries me beneath a mountain of anxiety, so I leave my swivel chair spinning when I ditch my computer inside. The trick
is to turn off all notifications and badges on your smartphone. Misnomer. Maybe holdouts without such devices are the smart ones. Silence the dings from the family’s group chat, appointment reminders, and memories of this past year’s losses.
A warbler breaks into my head
with a trill
I agree, Henry David. (I’ve pulled out my pocket notebook while I sit on a fallen log to say this.) Under the canopy, I worry that I am a woman alone in the woods. Fear hurries me
to a place of seclusion, surrounded by fallen limbs and the green understory, the air gravid as an overdue woman whose water is ready to break. At the pond, I am safe in Mother Earth’s arms. Why must I let fear waylay me? Distant traffic sounds carry. Wary. Always, there’s a reason. But, look: an American copper and a grizzled skipper have landed on the nearby orange butterfly weed. I pull out my camera.
Nature paintings:
ascendant trail markers
14 thoughts on "To Gillet Pond"
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Yesssss “Find the trailhead beyond cell reach”
Ahhh, what one hears when technology is silent “A warbler/breaks into my head/with a trill”(a lovely sound indeed!)
Love: “Nature paintings:/ascendant trail markers”
Thanks for reading, Pam! I’ve been itching to get back here, but this month’s been a bear!
I love your American sentences!
Thanks for riding the train with my American Sentences!
Love your work. Understand busy and glad you have lit here from time to time!
I like the pond as destination – the life-giver, womb. And thanks for the shoutout, Ellen – I have a dumb phone!!
That’s hilarious about the phone! You & Roberta!
Yep…Roberta and I have an agreement about her getting a smartphone when I get on FaceBook and vice versa. So far we two stubborn women have not budged!
Ha!!
Beautiful piece–its amazing how just a little bit of space can be bost restorative and also a reminder of our own humanness. I love “Fear hurries me/to a place of seclusion, surrounded by fallen limbs and the green understory, the air gravid…”
Thank you, Shaun. Yes! Noticing these moments brings us back to the people we’re meant to be.
What a gorgeous poem, Ellen! This image took my breath away:
“the air gravid as an overdue woman whose water is ready to break.”
It’s always a pleasure reading your work. Thank you for reminding me I need to get in the wild places more.
Thank you, Karen! I’m sorry I haven’t been able to be on these pages more!
I get this. I don’t do “notifications.”
The anxiety? I suspect a great many people agree. (My apt mgr won’t listen to MeidasTouch broadcasts any more because they made his blood pressure rise.)
Then in the midst of angst, you bless us with this:
A warbler breaks into my head
with a trill
Why must I let fear waylay me?
BECAUSE YOU ARE HUMAN, and not a sociopath. Seriously. Fear is in our DNA, and our responses vary: flight, fight, or freeze. When your alarms go off, hug those sensations close. Thank them for warning you.
I love this poem!
Thank you for such a close read! I just finished telling Karen George that I regret not being on these pages much this month (or this year). It really IS nourishing!
I’m seriously considering getting a dumbphone. This is so relatable. And I love the form–this is a haibun variation, yes?
The contrast between the blocks of thoughts and “A warbler breaks into my head
with a trill”
–are just lovely. A notification from life instead of your phone.