Downhome
Country Girl at Heart
One day I fulfilled
a longtime ambition. I
put on my jeans and went for a walk in the
woods, climbing up from the cabin through
new growth of beech and maples, walking from
there along a narrow dirt road and then
climbing a trail that borders a Christmas
tree farm. I passed several summer cabins,
but saw no one.
There was a
kind of poetry in this solitary walking, as
if I were moving through the feeling of a
poem or perhaps the meaning of music.
I was singing--not literally, of course--singing,
rather, like Whitman, the song of myself,
proclaiming to all of nature that this
woman walking alone in the woods celebrated
her being, took joy in her contradictions.
The air was
sweet with the scent of pine needles. There was
wind--a good strong western wind--and the sun
was warm. Now and then
a towhee called and was answered by its mate.
I wanted to stay up
on that mountaintop forever.
|Me and My Violin|
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