Poaching

It appears that the entire eastern seaboard is shut down, closed, at rest, quiescent because of snow. It's funny; it doesn't feel like a raging storm or blizzard, but all of the schools are closed, according to the radio, and many businesses aren't exactly encouraging people to brave the conditions to get to work. So I am working (ahem) at home. I've discovered this, via The Tidings of Magpies, an absolutely lovely poem:

What I Believe
by Michael Blumenthal

I believe there is no justice,
but that cottongrass and bunchberry
grow on the mountain.

I believe that a scorpion's sting
will kill a man,
but that his wife will remarry.

I believe that, the older we get,
the weaker the body,
but the stronger the soul.

I believe that if you roll over at night
in an empty bed,
the air consoles you.

I believe that no one is spared
the darkness,
and no one gets all of it.

I believe we all drown eventually
in a sea of our making,
but that the land belongs to someone else.

I believe in destiny.
And I believe in free will.

I believe that, when all
the clocks break,
time goes on without them.

And I believe that whatever
pulls us under,
will do so gently.

so as not to disturb anyone,
so as not to interfere
with what we believe in.

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