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December 9, 2005
Shadows of Venus
There are so many islands!
As many islands as the stars at night
on that branched tree from which meteors are shaken
like falling fruit around the schooner Flight.
But things must fall,and so it always was,
on one hand Venus,on the other Mars;
fall,and are one,just as this earth is one
island in archipelagoes of stars.
From "After the Storm" by Derek Walcott
Late Thursday afternoon, shortly after 4:30, I stepped out into the cold with the dogs, and I walked, unexpectedly, into a moment of beauty. The western sky longingly held the last memories of the sunset, a spectrum of muted light from umber to umbra hanging above a slope of darkened trees, while Venus, Mars, and a waxing crescent moon worked in unison to keep night at bay. This celestial triumvirate was brilliant enough to occlude most of the early evening stars and cast delicate shadows on the snowy, matted field across the road.
I understand that this year, specifically in late November and early December, Venus has been particularly bright -- indeed, bright enough, according to some, to cast shadows here on earth. Even as its brilliance begins to wane, our sister planet is bright and distinct enough to help me ease into the late autumn darkness of ever-lengthening nights.
Lately, as I find life filled with family, teaching, writing, thinking, I have found that the days become stories written in the shorter verse of moments rather than in the expansive prose of books. I recall reading once that the writer John Updike often moves daily from poem to essay to novel, juggling his ideas as inspiration warrants. In my own daily rituals -- waking with Orion before the dawn, walking with him and the dogs to the pond each morning, and stealing a few minutes in the evening to seek my son's namesake hunter, rising ever earlier in the east -- I find in these glimpses of sudden beauty inspiration for the more challenging times of the day.
A slight crescent moon appearing for but an instant over a craggy alpine ridge, Orion's wide laughing grin as we slide together over the frozen pond, Pemi looking up at me from behind her snow-crusted muzzle after a trail run, the arcing shadows of a snow-laden fir on a windy night. A day composed of verses like these is poetry enough to carry delight throughout this darker season.
It has been snowing a little almost every day this week, and though the accumulation around the house has been slight, subtle snow-limned pentimenti nonetheless make the world anew every day. Days which can resonate with the frustration or joy or disappointment or peace that I carry with me.
Over the past year, I have often looked to metaphor and poetry to try and explain my feelings about being and growing with my son. But there are, of course, no words that could paint a picture as complete as the one I see in Orion's eyes when he looks into my own. The bright broad strokes of color, the subtle shades of light, depth, and shadow -- I see the full harmony of meaning looking back at me each time I lift him from his crib in the morning, when we play in the bathtub together, or when I look back at him snug in his pack during our walks in the woods.
Every glance is full to overflowing with love.
Posted by pavel at 6:19 AM | Comments (3)