"Guests of my life, You came in the early dawn, and You in the night. Your name was uttered by the Spring flowers and yours by the showers and rain. You brought the harp into my house and you brought the lamp. After You had taken your leave I found God's footprints on my floor." (Rabindranath Tagore). November days grow short and the light goes quickly over the edge of the earth. Late last night I took a torch and went for a brief walk. I wanted to inhale the wet soil and the cold stars. Thoreau cried, "Let me have a draught of undiluted morning air" and encouraged all wo/men to drink their morning air at "the fountainhead of the day." I get my morning air while gathering wood, removing ash and dumping the pail. Dear Henry; Surely this is the undiluted air at the fountainhead of my particular day.
"As there are gates to open along the way so there are gates to close." (EM Forester). Someone has said that when one door closes another opens. This seems far too passive. Forester puts it into a more active voice. Yes, he tells us, get up and open the gate! The urge to migrate is upon me. Soon I must open my wings, lean against the sky and burst into flight. I follow the wild geese! But while the geese take no luggage I am packing bags and boxes of stuff I think I'll need. As I consider how the word 'home' applies to the Red Shed I find that it does not. I am a boarder here. A temporary resident. There is no sacred bond. Perhaps I am more a wild goose than I have ever suspected.