No particular poems

The rest of October, 2013

Nearby haunts, NY

That Golden Day did not stand alone this year.
In the weeks that followed there were Golden Moments,
almost every time I stepped outdoors.
I was afraid of being too busy enjoying it – of neglecting my blog --
    of losing those moments.

The words of Thoreau, who had a similar concerns at this time of year,
are of some comfort:

Our extatic states which appear to yield so little fruit,
have this value at least –
though in the seasons when our genius reigns
we may be powerless for expression --

Yet in calmer seasons, when our talent is active,
the memory of those rarer moods comes to color our picture 

                                                                                             Mom on Feeder Canal Trail

                                                                                            Pat birding at Moreau Lake

& is the permanent paint-pot as it were
into which we dip our brush.

Thus no life or experience goes unreported at last –

but if it be not solid gold
it is a gold-leaf
which gilds the furniture of the mind. 

It is an experience of infinite beauty –
on which we unfailing draw. 

Which enables us to exaggerate ever truly.

Our moments of inspiration are not lost
though we have no particular poems to show for them.

For those experiences have left an indelible impression,
and we are ever and anon reminded of them …

     HDT Journal, September 7, 1851