Well the muse, or Providence, as i believe she must be named, went off walking and swam into Old Fort Bayou and went in under the mud among the painted terrapins and gulf coast box turtles, and all of the creatures she has always know & loved. Same as sisters.
Silent bald eagles and speckled hawks over head.
Providence with her toes sinking in.
We went out looking for her. High tide, low tide, in the morning and out through the night.
The storm obscured her and it got cold and she was sinking down, all of her fine fingers lightning into the bayou causing spring to begin rearing all around.
Providence belongs to no one. Even Walter Anderson meant to keep his island. We are only human.
We hung lights in the trees, and stars all lanterned for us. We worked into the night, hoping we could bring her back inside.
She moves spring and she carries slow winter on her back, a fuzzy and drowsy child. She pulses spring to us but she must uncover it from the muck first. It’s been moiling for so long under that muck.
We saw the pine tree muted and knew we would not see a halcyon day.
Out in the woods waiting for heaven to be realized.
Jellyfish on the beach like old lost souls, slimy sea-suns on shore, dangerous & prickly no more. We poke them with our toes and imagine the sand grit of their land skin and the tangles of their insides. Their skin showing everything within.
Two porpoises, sent perhaps by Providence herself, asking us to stand at the shore and watch. Asking us for patience. They move in no pattern and appear where they will. In the same way the pine tree told us to be patient, today was not our day. Watch, wait. Heaven is all around.
(pelicans on tide totem poles, they know their hour.)
The filtered light, the cloudy light, the rain, the moon, the stars, the morning sun, the mid afternoon sun, these oaks catch every bit of it and i am beginning to believe they must be moving slowly all of the time. Their wooly coats highlight them fine as lines, fine as lightning, living.
He knows his boat rides smooth but the pine already told us to stay home.
We are out closely looking for patterns among the tree’s skins. Hoping that realization also comes from within.
