This tree was beside a runway at an airport where a friend coming to visit landed earlier today. The plane that Wayne was in is the one on the far left of the photo – it had just touched down. It was raining. It’s been raining a lot. You can click the pic to see it bigger.
[daily log: walking, 3km;]
The End
Not every man knows what he shall sing at the end,
Watching the pier as the ship sails away, or what it will seem like
When he’s held by the sea’s roar, motionless, there at the end,
Or what he shall hope for once it is clear that he’ll never go back.
When the time has passed to prune the rose or caress the cat,
When the sunset torching the lawn and the full moon icing it down
No longer appear, not every man knows what he’ll discover instead.
When the weight of the past leans against nothing, and the sky
Is no more than remembered light, and the stories of cirrus
And cumulus come to a close, and all the birds are suspended in flight,
Not every man knows what is waiting for him, or what he shall sing
When the ship he is on slips into darkness, there at the end.
– Mark Strand (Canadian-American poet, 1934-2014)
ㅁ The map demanded my work, took form out of my mind's murk... this mapping thing - that's my quirk.
– an englyn milwr.
