2020 Walk to Salt Water - Bill Greenwood

[Larry Robinson]

This walk is in Pt. Reyes, so it is probably one you know well.

We woke up at 4:30 this morning to the sound of thunder and the flash of lightning; it is still happening - possibly the biggest electrical storm the north bay has ever experienced. We have gotten a tiny bit of rain but are very concerned about the lightning sparking wildfires, the last thing we need in the time of pandemic.
> On Aug 16, 2020, at 6:52 AM, Larry Robinson <Lrobpoet at sonic.net> wrote:
> 
> 2020 Walk to Salt Water
> 
> 	When they go low, we go high. Michele Obama
> How low can you go? Chubby Checker
> 
> I.
> A spring-loaded clip 
> unchains the first gate. 
> Our path heads for 
> a grey volcanic outcrop,
> reminder that this bay 
> marks the fault line 
> at our country’s edge.
> 
> What relief to leave behind 
> the morning paper stories 
> of this small “p” president. 
> Of how he’s sending troops.
> More troops to guard against 
> assemblies of his citizens
> petitioning their government. 
> 
> No, this afternoon we navigate
> the gopher-riddled pasture ground 
> among pot-bellied angus, huge 
> quadrupeds that prance away 
> from us on tiny hooves.
> II.
> We come to the second gate 
> encrusted on both sides 
> by poison oak a well-oiled
> green the red is overtaking.
> My hand threads around 
> the post, unhooks the snap
> and the gate swings wide. 
> Buttercups are humming
> gold, color of truth.
> 
> Unwittingly the mind snags 
> on the contrast with this 
> very small “p” president;
> he who made the Limbo 
> the Official White House 
> Dance by simply standing 
> there in place and speaking;
> he who fabricates alternate facts
> repronounced by the invertebrate 
> and/or blind loyalists he dupes
> with nanoscopic honesty;
> he who does- or can-
> not read and yet rewrote the book 
> on lies told while in office.
> III.
> The third gate clip missing 
> its spring wants fiddling with.
> We take note of and sidestep 
> bobcat or mountain lion scat 
> and hew to the trail’s contour 
> along the landscape slope. 
> A light wind carries my attention
> across the field to purple asters, 
> yes, color of kings and queens. 
> 
> What grand irony how this 
> smallest of all possible “p’s” 
> president tells the world over
> and over that he’s the greatest 
> creature in the sea of life
> when   he   is   but   blubber.
> 
> Nevertheless, this year again 
> he’s poisoning the well,
> ranting how his opposition 
> schemes to cheat him out
> of his imagined reelection.
> Thus he delegitimizes ballots 
> that could well be delivered 
> by the US Postal Service 
> which he works to unravel
> and thereby steal the vote.
> IV.
> The early fog is lifting 
> off  the ridge―sky blue 
> infinity comes into focus.
> We look upon salt water
> although I refuse to weep.
> Today’s gift of clarity moves me 
> to ask, with all humility,
> O Lord, if one there be: 
> 
> Grant that this imposter fin-al-ly 
> be made to go stand someplace else, 
> anyplace besides the office he holds 
> down with bogus bone-spurred feet;
> Grant that every single eligible 
> person registers to vote;
> and when the time does come
> Grant that they do.
> 
> 	- Bill Greenwood
>  	
> 								



We are talking only to ourselves. We are not talking to the rivers, we are not listening to the wind and stars. We have broken the great conversation. By breaking that conversation we have shattered the universe. All the disasters that are happening now are a consequence of that spiritual “autism.”

- Thomas Berry

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