No idea, simply noise, call it noise, which rises through the leaves, The fact of evening, a click in the brain or sees, and nothing to doĪbout it, black snake twining up trunk and branches toward nest,Īnd still the bead of the heart must makeĪ noise about it, its one noise, a waterfall of noise-no thought, Ment that something more than inertia is present and recognizes Vousness, the grim melodious anxiety of the beast, the announce. This is not song, this is not singing, this is not thoughtful, it comesįrom no idea, it is only heat and good cheer, or even less, ner. In the morning we returned early they were waking We heard them we looked up we began shouting Still, listen, I swear, I have not set one word down In the language of the garden, this is happiness.Ī mossy house anyone with any sense would enter Whoever I am, it is for mere appearance's sake. Whoever I was, it is growing hazy and forgettable. I am done with all of it, the habits, the patience. I lie down on the high cold table, and they begin. But, as everywhere, the changes have come. Shimmering wheel of spring with red legs he flew past, busy with There is a green heron with a yellow eye. Leap, or they do not leap, I merely hear their silvery whinnies. Somewhere the frogs, in the last wet inches, The sun hasĭrawn away most of the water, so that here and there nothing It is late summer, and the pond is not what it was.

May I also bring to each blue and cloudy morning a We make this world only out of bone, and not the greater weightĬarolina wren, chickadee, nuthatch, english

In any life some failures are neverthelessĪchievements, and this one, in mine, is by no means Her puppy teeth, all of them I could find, white and Every forward, like, share, tweet, stumble, post, etc. Thanks for your support as I get some momentum going for these recordings. The Sunday Sessions have worn through the callouses on my fingertips - I had to cover my index finger with super glue to get this one finished (which worked surprisingly well, guitarists). One of the things that got it finished was revisiting a favorite poem - Mary Oliver's 'In Blackwater Woods.' I've included the full poem below. The sentiment that got 'For Blackwater Woods' started came from a late-night frisbee toss in the freezing cold.

Download call to arms blackwater