A week or so ago, we had a lot of wind blowing in the evening, accompanied by white jagged lightning bolts and splitting thunder. I went outside to look. We live on three acres in rural Louisiana, and there are four towering live oak trees next to our house in addition to bushes and other trees opposite our front door. I stood and watched the wind as it swept through the trees in front and made their tops sway to its will. There was some rain, but not a lot, mostly strong wind. The sound the bushes and trees made as they brushed against one other was exciting. What did the poet Marianne Moore say about wind bending salt marsh grass? “It is a privilege to see so much confusion.” I was mesmerized, happily.
Loved reading this, Richard. Reminded me so much of Cumberland Island, which is covered with old live oaks. And I mean old. Hundreds of years. Forming canopies over the narrow dirt paths. Spanish moss hanging, creating images of old men, stooping to whisper to one another.
At the Bard Institute for Writing and Thinking, I learned one of the ways to respond to writing called, Center of Gravity. This sentence struck me as the center of the piece's gravity. "Manual labor like this can make even small tasks seem heroic." Isn't that true of most of your writing?
“It had been a good morning.” you wrote, Richard. It had been a wonderful evening, Richard, because I had the pleasure of reading your wonderful story dedicated to an oak - it was injured and I was sorry for it. Your language mesmerizes me. It always affects me like a lyrical song, no matter how sad it is.
Very enjoyable read as always, Richard. One of the many qualities of your pieces is that they seem so easy to relate to. The poetry in them makes every element of the narrative fresh and interesting. Last summer, I spent several hot days turning fallen trees into logs. For the first time in my life I realized that pushing a heavy wheelbarrow uphill did require more effort. Hard to imagine working without a chainsaw, as you did. As much as I dislike the noise they produce, I simply couldn't have done the work without one.
Thanks so much, Olivier. Luckily, we don't have to saw that much wood, so, for the most part, I can do it with a handsaw. I know those chainsaws can be handy!
As a lover of trees, I was delighted with your lyrical descriptions of your live oaks and with the Leopold quote. And you are so right about the purifying nature of hard manual labor. Can't get much more mindful than that.
Loved reading this, Richard. Reminded me so much of Cumberland Island, which is covered with old live oaks. And I mean old. Hundreds of years. Forming canopies over the narrow dirt paths. Spanish moss hanging, creating images of old men, stooping to whisper to one another.
Thank you, Marilyn. What you wrote here is lovely!
At the Bard Institute for Writing and Thinking, I learned one of the ways to respond to writing called, Center of Gravity. This sentence struck me as the center of the piece's gravity. "Manual labor like this can make even small tasks seem heroic." Isn't that true of most of your writing?
I have a hard time examining my own writing. I'm just pleased you read it and seem to enjoy it.
“It had been a good morning.” you wrote, Richard. It had been a wonderful evening, Richard, because I had the pleasure of reading your wonderful story dedicated to an oak - it was injured and I was sorry for it. Your language mesmerizes me. It always affects me like a lyrical song, no matter how sad it is.
You are so kind to say these things, Marina.
Very enjoyable read as always, Richard. One of the many qualities of your pieces is that they seem so easy to relate to. The poetry in them makes every element of the narrative fresh and interesting. Last summer, I spent several hot days turning fallen trees into logs. For the first time in my life I realized that pushing a heavy wheelbarrow uphill did require more effort. Hard to imagine working without a chainsaw, as you did. As much as I dislike the noise they produce, I simply couldn't have done the work without one.
Thanks so much, Olivier. Luckily, we don't have to saw that much wood, so, for the most part, I can do it with a handsaw. I know those chainsaws can be handy!
What a lovely post. There is so much to say about trees and our relationship with them.
Yes, there is!
As a lover of trees, I was delighted with your lyrical descriptions of your live oaks and with the Leopold quote. And you are so right about the purifying nature of hard manual labor. Can't get much more mindful than that.
I so agree!