In my late seventies I had been living with the knowledge that at some point sooner rather than later, I should need to move to the small town nearby and leave my place of beauty and privacy in a rural area. Besides the snow removal, which had gotten to be too much for my body--chopping and carrying firewood, gardening and other chores, I was dealing with bothersome symptoms of a hyperparathyroid condition. This condition I believe I'd had for some years without knowing what the problem was. In the winter of 2022 I found out I was accepted for a BC (British Columbia) Housing project in town, so I planned to move there eventually. This meant a lot more downsizing than I'd already done; it meant trying to sell the house I'd lived in for 26 years, and continuing the letting go from all the wonders the place had brought me. The gifts of living there had grown me in ways I really appreciate. During the process I wrote the piece below. A month later I made the biggest part of the move but did not have to complete things for another 27 days. My grieving process worked well and what I'm left with is deep gratitude for the peace, inspiration, the music, beauty and joy I experienced in all those years at that special place.
SEVEN FIRES AT AVALANCHE RIDGE
Today, the seventh fire of letting-go,
In my life this will have been home
the most years;
Smoke rises from the fire pit
I lean back against a big cedar;
Her back fits exactly to my spine
there is no separation--
No me no tree--just one vibration
I carry with me the pink-orange
Autumn sunrises over the river,
The water reflecting both Venus
and the moon at the same time;
The calls of all the birds--
haunting call of one loon in spring;
sunlight through osprey wings
as I gaze up from the kayak;
the splendid varied blues of heron feathers;
mergansers with ducklings on their backs,
Steller's jays and grouse out the window,
Two bear cubs gleefully wrestling on the lawn;
I Carry the early morning sun on snow
And its quiet--the comfort of the woodstove,
My amazement when morning brought a herd
of elk moving fast up hill through the yard;
And too the gentle deer, hungry bears that
sometimes surprise--and once
a badger running in snow;
In my heart I hold the light of a full moon
shining in ripples on the water--
the scent of yarrow, welcome taste
of Saskatoon berries, the insistent speech of ravens;
my imitation calls back at them,
And the mamma bear and two cubs all up in
fragile branches of the plum tree; the scent
and delicacy of dogbane and dogwood blossoms;
I'll taste and smell the mint, be friends
with the mergansers, see the beavers swimming;
I'll see myself playing bouzouki
tears running down my face as far away
my Mother lies dying;
I'll carry the tall tall trees, their sublime
nobility and how they've sheltered me;
After the seventh fire comes lightening, more
lightening--loud pounding thunder, then rain,
more lightening and finally as if to echo
the pertinence of my release--
one body-tearing bolt of thunder
that rattles the windows, marking this day;
Now all calm--a perky skunk dances
summersaults through the yard.
July 3rd, 2022
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