By Major Jackson
The mountains are at their theater again,
each ridge practicing an oration of scale and crest,
and the sails, performing glides across the lake, complain
for being out-shadowed despite their gracious
bows. Thirteen years in this state, what hasn’t occurred?
A cyclone in my spirit led to divorce, four books
gave darkness an echo of control, my slurred
hand finding steadiness by the prop of a page,
and God, my children whom I scarred! Pray they forgive.
My crimes felt mountainous, yet perspective
came with distance, and like those peaks, once keening
beneath biting ice, then felt resurrection in a vestige
of water, unfrozen, cascading and adding to the lake’s
depth, such have I come to gauge my own screaming.
The masts tip so far they appear to capsize, keeling
over where every father is a boat on water. The wakes
carry the memory of battles, and the Adirondacks
hold their measure. I am a tributary of something greater.
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We had gorgeous weather on Thursday, so after Paul finished working in the morning (and the people who stayed up late the night before woke up), we headed to Scott's Run in Virginia, but the parking lot was so crowded that we decided to go to Riverbend Park nearby instead. There are no eagles raising chicks there at this time of year, but there are plenty of geese, ducks, seagulls, and songbirds, plus lots of evidence of beaver work though we didn't actually see any beavers.
We came home for a little while, then went to Washingtonian Center to meet Kay and Chris and their family for dinner at CPK. We haven't all gotten together in a long time, so that was great! Then we walked back to the car along Washingtonian Lake, which has some of Seneca Creek's winter lights on display, and came back for Chanukah and The Hitman's Bodyguard because the kids hadn't seen it. Now Daniel and I are watching more Clone Wars and everyone has plans tomorrow!
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