Editor’s Note: Pardon my imposition on this page, but what I have to say today best belongs on Basho’s Road.
How does that old song go about “the first part of the journey”? I will have completed the second long of this particular journey through Noman’s Land on Thursday. Rest a while. Begin my annual writing workshop at The Clearing the week of June 13th Expect few postings on any of my sites that week, but stay with me. Go into the rich archives Monsieur K. has maintained so diligently, brilliantly…so much good material to enjoy again and again. Sometime, probably July, the third leg of the journey—surgery.
I have received hundreds of wonderful get well cards, e-mails, messages, phone calls…visits, gifts. It’s impossible at this point to thank you all. But I do. Really do.
In the mail yesterday, a drawing from a good friend of mine, dog artist, cartoonist, Mike McCartney ( www.mccartneysdogs.com ) whose work always makes me smile, who has a local, national, international following, who lives and draws and with his wife, Dede, runs his ‘drawing-dogs-business’ here in Door. I thought sharing a little of his gift with readers by why of Thanks. Bless you all.
In the woods, near my coop, sits a rowboat, gradually returning to earth. I used to haul it down to the little lake at the end of my road, and ‘escape’ on summer afternoons. “Gone fishin’.” Only I was not much of a fisherman after the kids left—or ever for that matter. But I still loved that heavy wooden boat. Loved rowing it, out to the middle of the lake with books and notebooks, and tossing a concrete block anchor attached to an old rope, Kerplunk!…ahhhh. And drift.
I was a Zen fisherman. A casting rod, some small weights, a red and white bobber—and a hook with no bait. I liked to watch the ripples the bobber made in the blue water. I liked to watch the fish, swimming so beautifully, aglow in their own element. Most of all, I waited for the moment the sky fell upon the water—and I was gone. Emptiness. Nowhere. Everywhere.
Mike reminded me of my old life on water.
adrift now in a sea of grass,
trees, dead leaves and wildflowers,
my red rowboat