Thursday, July 14, 2011

22 OCT 10

Have become, lately, lost
in the site...
tracing the roots of my fractured family.
As of now, have drilled back as far as the 18th century.
Found that I may be a direct descendant,
through my paternal grandmother,
of a pre-Revolution revolutionary...
from Coxsackie, NY.
Never before had heard of
"The Coxsackie Declaration Of Independence."
The link is tenuous though...
He being of Dutch descent,
while my family all seem to hail from the British Isles...
specifically, Ireland.
(With a touch of German in the mix.)
I've discovered cousins I never knew existed.
We swap e-mails now.
Nice to know that my brother and I
are not alone...
at the end of our line.
(Our five estranged children know nothing
of the true family. Their loss.)
(Long story there.)

I found this bit of verse last night.
Thought to share it.


"Look, how those steep woods on the mountain's face
Burn, burn against the sunset; now the cold
Invades our very noon: the year's grown old,
Mornings are dark, and evenings come apace.
The vines below have lost their purple grace,
And in Forreze the white wrack backward rolled,
Hangs to the hills tempestuous, fold on fold,
And moaning gusts make desolate all the place.

Mine host the month, at thy good hostelry,
Tired limbs I'll stretch and steaming beast I'll tether;
Pile on great logs with Gascon hand and free,
And pour the Gascon stuff that laughs at weather;
Swell your tough lungs, north wind, no whit care we,
Singing old songs and drinking wine together."
—Hilaire Belloc

I found the poem, by accident, on the internet.
AND... since it is the tail end of October...
and since I was sitting here,
sipping wine...
after being stuffed with roasted chicken and potatoes,
it struck a chord.
It's not often one can find the exact words
that describe the living moment.


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