(photo credit: Love by Amanda Tipton on flickr.com. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/legalcode.)
Because I love poetry but rarely stop to read it, I signed up to receive daily emails from Garrison Keillor, called The Writer’s Almanac. (to access Writer’s Almanac, click here)
Every day, I receive an email that begins with a poem, which you can both read and listen to online, and then is followed by some trivia about literary people who were born on that day. I don’t always get to the trivia, but when I do, I’m never sorry.
Today’s poem resonated with me because I understand that feeling of wanting to just be, of wanting to be of nature not simply an observer of it.
I hope this poem (The Call Away by Robert Bly) feeds your soul the way it does mine.
The Call Away by Robert Bly
A cold wind flows over the cornfields;
Fleets of blackbirds ride that ocean.
I want to be out of here, go out,
Outdoors, anywhere in wind.
My back against a shed wall, I settle
Down where no one can find me.
I stare out at the box-elder leaves
Moving frond-like in that mysterious water.
What is it that I want? Not money,
Not a large desk, not a house with ten rooms.
This is what I want to do: to sit here,
To take no part, to be called away by wind.
I want to go the new way, build a shack
With one door, sit against the door frame.
After twenty years, you will see on my face
The same expression you see in the grass.
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