Oh of the most lovely parts of each day I have had in Arizona, has been the birds, they wake me in the morning, they sing all day longs, some are really really persistent, I still hear a few as I prepare for bed at night. I have even taken a few pictures and Anita has instantly identified the bird for me. As I type I can hear at least four different types of calls. I am watching some very small bird sitting in the lemon tree next door. The birds don't know there is a pandemic. I bet they are liking that there are not so many cars, fewer planes, and less air pollution. They make me happy. Anita has assured me that the birds will be coming back, I think she said the cracklings have already appeared. They will come and I am hopeful that their sounds and songs will be as sweet a balm for me as I sit on my screened porch and it is today as I sit in the shade on the patio listening and just taking in the sound.
In a little bit I will be joining others in the Katahdin Region for the Katahdin Collaborative Quarterly Meeting. It will be a "zoom" meeting. We are just going to be checking in with everyone, giving time and space to be connected. I am welcoming this opportunity another entry point towards home.
I am in my last days here, when I left Maine I thought that today would be a transition day, the last day in Arizona. Now tomorrow will be my transition day, the last day before I get on a plane on Friday night heading east. I am hopeful that I don't receive any more texts or emails that say that my schedule has been changed. It has been a long time since I took a "red eye" but I am up for it. The winter clothes are laid out and I am mindful of being very very comfy for my long long ride. I envision sleeping way across the country. Then I will do a little puddle jumper to Maine. My car will be waiting. My home prepared. Food in the ready.
Such gratitude I feel. I have asked that people check in with me in those first days back home, I know that I don't know what all I will feel. I know that it will be something or many somethings. We are in a pandemic no amount of wishing this away will make it go away. I am so sorry for the hurt, the grief, the loss, the damage, the absolute amount of change and uncertainly and insecurity so many will feel for so long. I am going to keep trying to do my part, first by going into physical isolation upon my return then by sorting out how to be of use.
Marge Piercy's Poem "To Be of Use" has been cropping up in my consciousness, rolling around on my tongue, beating in my heart. So I am going to share it with you now.
To be of use
By Marge Piercy
The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.
I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.
I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.
The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.
Source:
Circles on the Water: Selected Poems of Marge Piercy
(Alfred A. Knopf, 1982)
It is Wednesday Day 25 of Spring Away the birds are flying all around me and their song is sweet.
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