Late for Your Life

Here is a song for the mid-year or for mid-life, where I, myself, happen to be at the moment. Of course, we can only guess that we are midway through a time if we don't know how long the time will last.

On that note, to celebrate the time we have right now, I present the lovely Mary Chapin Carpenter:

Late for Your Life 2003

You've been saying for the longest time that the time has come

You've been talking like you're of a mind to get some changing done

Maybe move out of the city, find some quiet little town

Where you can sit out on your back porch step

And watch the sun go down

No one knows where they belong

The search just goes on and on and on

For every choice that ends up wrong

Another one's right

A change of scene would sure be great

The thought is nice to contemplate

But the question begs why would you wait

And be late for your life

Now you might never find that perfect town

But the sun still sets on a rooftop where the city

Sounds like a Gershwin clarinet

And you might still be searching every face for one you can't forget

Love is out there in a stranger's clothes

You just haven't met him yet

No one knows where they belong

The search just goes on and on and on

For every day that ends up wrong

Another one's right

Call it chance or call it fate

Either one is cause to celebrate

Still the question begs why would you wait

And be late for your life

Call it chance baby, call it fate

Either one is cause to celebrate

And the question now is why would you wait

Don't be late for your life

Poem: The First Day of the Fall

The weather in Seattle has been warm and sunny, and I've been enjoying my time on a nearby island called Bainbridge. The wind is low, but with that stillness comes a restlessness. It feels time to bring out a poem written some years ago on a day like this one, on this same island; although, then, the fall and its delights were closing in. So now is the time to unfold and float that day up like a blanket settling onto the grass, and remember countless summers of dreaming and waking into voluminous air.

The First Day of the Fall

Soon the leaves

will release and reveal

the limbs beneath.

Pressed together on the

ground they will lie

until a gentle stirring

brings up their sweetness

into the nostrils,

the mouth,

if I walk close enough

to the ground.

Yet this day,
unabashed,

believes it summer still.

And still the trees
 that brace the walk 

thrust their limbs higher

into the shimmer,

beckoning clouds

to hover and pour

non interruptus.

So hot today that

crane flies beat

at the glass to get out.

Yet during the night

I chased them

along the ceiling.

They, mounted on air,

sweeping in circles,

confused by lights

and heat from lamps,

eluded me,

so badly they wanted

to stay in.

So hot today that

neither clothes

nor hands to touch

are welcome.

Only thoughts
are wanted

to come across me

in waves of mist,

only thoughts

may glide over

the iliac crest

the floating rib

the sternum

as I take myself

to enter a boat,

swinging my leg

over the protruding bow

to fall and lie 

pressed to the bottom

and rock in silence

as far out as it floats

until I can bear

my flesh again

-- 2011

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