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Making Plans

I’ve been making a lot of plans lately. Lesson plans, life plans. Today I’m taking a step back, using poetry to muse about control, spirituality, and the inspiration of the natural world, with a few shots of my Iceland vacation thrown in.

Making Plans

Remember in July,
when we stood still in our hiking boots,
waiting for the geyser to gush?

Screen Shot 2016-08-07 at 4.07.01 PM

Even that was a plan you made
and clothes I carefully laid
and bills we carefully paid
so we could dig our heels in the brown ground,
say “Wow”
When the earth flaunted its do-as-it-likes

Carefully stepping around wet stones and
“hugging the mountain” when the altitude felt too high

Screen Shot 2016-08-07 at 4.08.49 PMand reaching for a stray horse’s snout on a muted, windy slope,
Screen Shot 2016-08-07 at 4.10.18 PM

We breathed in Earth’s overflow
witnessed Her grace

But over a Gull, or lobster soup,
Screen Shot 2016-08-07 at 4.12.10 PM

we mused over plans for home,
or lunch,
stealthily strategizing.

Meanwhile, glowing chunks of blue-white ice floated idly toward the Atlantic
Screen Shot 2016-08-07 at 4.14.24 PM
Aggressive waterfalls thundered down cliffs
Screen Shot 2016-08-07 at 4.15.41 PM
the gray Atlantic met with pebbled beaches
Screen Shot 2016-08-07 at 4.17.41 PM

And we took pictures, eager to clap
For this jazz.

Then

Surrender came in a flash
when I stripped off my coat and scarf and laid in the moss-grass of a mountain
Screen Shot 2016-08-07 at 4.20.28 PM
suddenly remembering that memorial service photo of Carrie’s mom,
basking in the sky on Colorado grass
Before ALS hit.

Today I wonder if I’m a fool
to think that the plans I’m making
bear a contrast, rather than a pale resemblance to
the sprinkling of volcanic ash on a glacier
Screen Shot 2016-08-07 at 4.21.40 PM

Perhaps I’ve been duped
by the strangeness of ash on ice
the drama of cascading water
the glow of blue lagoons

Screen Shot 2016-08-07 at 4.22.58 PM

Yes, I think I’ve been duped.
I’m “a theatre person”; I should understand
the planning that goes into the artifice.

“Whipped cream on a brick,”
a dance teacher once said,
of a ballerina’s lithe posturing
to look like she does as she likes.

Still, it’s a nice thought,
And one that I think I’ll hold onto,
That when the geyser errupts,
She’s just letting it go,
on a whim.

Screen Shot 2016-08-07 at 4.25.23 PM

 

 

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