”A Lover of the Birches”
....how can i ever explain this need of mine, to be close too, and how close is too close, before becoming rooted in the beauty of the birch, as out of the genus bertula and found in my family of betulaceae, i am drawn to the texture of your skin as i peel your bark in dreaming of how you shall yet look, showing your self to the passerbys on that piece of rustic camp wood art where you now sit as furniture of desire….
One of my favorite poems about the birch is one I am partly placing here:
....”So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It’s when I’m weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig’s having lashed across it open.
I’d like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love:
I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.
I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches. —-by Robert Frost
After snow clean-up yesterday I had a chance to get out into our woods and ended up sitting for a spell here and dreaming, just dreaming, just sitting and being intoxicated with the view. At times like this my mind tends to range far and off to the mountains in the background and all those remembered places that I have been therein.
Dreaming as such is but the many miles off and then brought home, to where and when I look down to how my feet now stand while viwing some of the work of 2006, and then I give thanks.
You all have a very good day!!!
-- --frank, NH, http://rusticwoodart.tumblr.com/