Day 177
June 26, 2022
Happy Birthday, Peter Whiton

My day began with this  message from Dina.  This on my Dad's birthday, the reason I am a quarter Whiton.

I am reading this poem today in Whitinsville, dedicating it to you and your people and the happy coincidence of coming to read in a place that is woven into the herstory of such a precious friend:

I heard singing…

 

Out wandering in the autumn woods

on an old dirt road with no houses

following a brook through quiet forest

where mossy stone walls mark the

ghost boundaries of farms that once were

 

The brook fell over a waterfall into a

deep ravine where I stopped to watch leaves

shimmer in that golden-hour slant of light

that illuminates the world from within

stunning all my worries to silence

 

A raven flew over calling a greeting to another

raven that answered from a distance and then from

the shimmer of light and the drum of water crossing

stone a song rose from the land (I kid you not) I heard

singing like a prayer that came from the ground

 

Whose relations left a song in this land? Not mine

I reckon, mine never walked here before. And not the

wall builders whose labors cleared and divided and not

the songs of sheep or cattle who grazed meadows here

until the forest grew back to make the borders obsolete

 

How far has this song traveled through light

across time to reach the ears of a person stopping

for no reason, listening for the stories ravens tell

and the waters falling? It feels in my bones like a

mending for future generations is passing through

 

This song, a ceremony dancing deep in the woods

since before stones were dug and laid for walls

an earth protection rooted in Grandmother hopes

today is the day a person with ears to hear bent closer

awed by the blessing still singing through the land

~ Dina Stander 

 



One of the books that will be on that bibliography I keep promising is a Dina Stander book of poetry.



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