January 1, 2012

The Shapes of the World

Though this first day of 2012 will flow into the next, as did yesterday, it is a starting point as well. Carries possibility. I've been giving that thought. Possibility. Trying to "feel the shape of things to come" as David Whyte says below. An annual review of what I do and what more I might, to make it better; this magical spinning orb that carries us into the new year. 

The global communication made possible through the gift of blogs is a treasure and an important tool. Thanks to each of you for your part. May your New Year be filled with light, love and "the sound of home." Hugs, Chris

The Shapes of the World
By David Whyte

From the book 'Where Many Rivers Meet'
Poems by David Whyte

Stooped low on the beach gathering firewood,
round, bleached and shaped by a gracious weather,
I find the eyes of mythical totems,
the shapes of fish and orca's fins.

My friend tends the fish, I tend the fire.
Slowly the fish fries in it's round black pan.
Beneath, the innumerable shapes of other fish
salted by many years, burn blue and red
and yellow.

Our two kayaks are turned on a gravel beach,
steel grey light on their upturned bows,
while woodsmoke drifts out beyond them,
smudging the islands guarding the cove.

Through those small islands we coasted
skirting the wild weather chasing our sterns,
and I remember, that as we struck gravel
I felt the shape of things to come.

It was as if I remembered how all things fit
one to another and the sound of gravel
was the sound of home, and at the place where 
water meets land I could meet all things.

On the cold beach we made a nest, a tent
shadowed by trees, a small fire, a place to sit.
The pure silence of honest work,
twigs cracking in the moist air.

Above us the young eagle circled
seeking a glimmer in the sea.
The waves murmured on the beach,
the gravel's voice rising and falling.

When we find a home like this
it must be that the old ones come by,
join us on the rough log seats,
through their arms round our shoulders,

speak lovingly of the eagle,
laugh between mouthfuls of fish.
Tell us to go back, tell the old stories.
How the shapes of the world can speak.


Teresa Evangeline said...

What a beautiful photograph, Chris, and the perfect poem to accompany it. It makes me look forward to spending more of next summer near the water.

Happy New Year.

Rubye Jack said...

Both give me a sense of pleasant tranquility that all is right with us and the world.
Happy New Year Chris!

Sea Mist and Sunsets said...

Yes, more time near the water. Sounds good to me. That line about the "gravel's voice rising and falling" seems a call to someplace with waves.
Happy New Year to you too dear one.

Sea Mist and Sunsets said...

I'm so glad it gives you that sense. I've been hoarding this photo since summer for the New Year post. It was taken on a calm, soft day.

The poem was written by a Northwest poet, originally from Ireland. I've heard him read his poetry and that brogue adds a another lovely layer to his words.

All the best to you in the year ahead Rubye. We'll keep looking for those "tranquil" and "all is right with the world" moments.


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