mystery of trees
and water and all living
things borrowing time
They used to say we’re living on borrowed
time but even when young I wondered
who loaned it to us? In 1948 one grandpa
died stretched tight in a misty oxygen tent,
his four sons gathered, his papery hand
grasping mine. Only a week before, we were fishing.
Now the four sons have all run out of borrowed time
while I’m alive wondering whom I owe
for this indisputable gift of existence.
Of course time is running out. It always
has been a creek heading east, the freight
of water with its surprising heaviness
following the slant of the land, its destiny.
What is lovelier than a creek or riverine thicket?
Say it is an unknown benefactor who gave us
birds and Mozart, the mystery of trees and water
and all living things borrowing time.
Would I still love the creek if I lasted forever?
Debtor by Jim Harrison as published in Songs of Unreason (Copper Canyon Press; 2011).
What is lovelier than a creek or riverine thicket?
Say it is an unknown benefactor who gave us
birds and Mozart, the mystery of trees and water
and all living things borrowing time.
Walking on Pinckney Island, the day after Thanksgiving at stopped at this spot, looking west, where I have stopped hundreds of times.
I have stopped hundreds of times but I have never stopped time other than by capturing a moment using the phone on my camera.
Back it the day, it might have been called a still shot, I guess from the painters, still life.
Nothing about this picture is really still.
The tide is moving the water out at 6 knots.
The Sun is spinning away at 1,000 miles per hour.
The earth tips 1 degree north of south each day depending on the season.
The clouds and marsh grass move with the wind.
Everything is in motion.
All by accident.
No Artificial intelligence.
No photoshop.
Say it is an unknown benefactor who gave us
birds and Mozart, the mystery of trees and water
and all living things borrowing time.
I might have captured the moment but the time is borrowed.
No Haiku For You 