Saturday, November 8, 2008

Six Oh Obama

My present for my sixtieth birthday came one week late, an Obama victory! October was a lovely month here in Connecticut. I've come to enjoy the Guilford Poets Guild workshops, and I have new material to write about. For Columbus Day weekend we went up to Gilmanton, saw our good friends there, gawked at the colorful leaves. If here in Connecticut the colors might be rated an "8," in New Hampshire everywhere is a "10." 

Towards the end of the month we went north again to Boston for a few days. Attended a Jordi Savall-Hesperion XXI concert in the very beautiful Saunders Hall on the Harvard Campus. We stayed at the Hyatt Harborside, had fun getting around town on the T, walking through East Boston (great breakfast place, 303), and taking the ferry across the bay. We had brunch with Vicki and Steve in Back Bay, and they took us to the top of the Prudential Center for a birthday flan.

My new poetry friend and neighbor, Jane, is going to whip me into shape. Yesterday morning we played tennis with two guys she had arranged to join us. Since I hadn't played in probably five years or so, it took me awhile to get warmed up. And my serve is still iffy. But my net play was pretty darned good. I'm going to think about continuing this line of exercise, but I think I'd rather just rally with Jane. Going through the humiliation of playing actual games, and having to actually get serves in, is too much pressure. On election day I walked up Long Hill Road two miles to our voting place. Then Bill drove up the hill, I took the car home, and he walked back! We're trying "enforced marches" as an exercise routine. Of course, when we get in shape, we'll just walk the 4 or 5 miles, to town and back together for instance. Steve and Vicki can be our inspiration. They already cover 4 miles about 3 times a week, so I'm sure we can do it. In the meantime, we pass all these lovely streets of Guilford on our walks. Makes you want to break into song:

                        Guilford Song 

The birds all knew the local language—

two short bursts, and then a moment of silence

step stone

A pairing of adjective-noun, as if the subject

could not be left unattended

flag marsh

The frogs tossed out all sorts of ideas

but kept to the code

still meadow

The cemetery didn’t wish to limit itself

to just one name


A rhythmic two-step along the shoreline

salt marsh

Her Puritan forebears wouldn’t have known

anything more complicated

flat meadow

tangling forbidden anyway

nut plains

two friends, a quickening of the pulse,

you lay down a card and I’ll tell you what it is

red queen   fox glove   hearts ease

saw mill   red coat   long hill 

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