almost gone

My friend who loves owls
Has been with me all day
Walking at my ear
And speaking of old summers
When to speak was easy.
His eyes are almost gone
Which made him hear well.
Under our feet the great
Glacier drove its keel.
What is to read there
Scored out in the dark?
Later the north-west distance
Thickened towards us.
The blizzard grew and proved
Too filled with other voices
High and desperate
For me to hear him more.
I turned to see him go
Becoming shapeless into
The shrill swerving snow.

W.S. Graham, from "Malcom Mooney's Land."

Imai, Kawanakajima

Nagano

1 January 2010

The struggle to communicate, to reach beyond yourself and your ghosts. The ice slowly melting, the promise of warmth, proximity. The entailing sense of loss when the ice returns, unexpected, and distance wins again the upper hand.

It is between the two territories that friendship & love are negotiated and eventually flourish, I guess. But not when through neglect or inertia or insecurity you let the ice insidiously accumulate.

Negotiating with the snow has never been easy and there are some painful lessons to learn - just ask the dwellers of the snow country, observe them in their daily struggle.