There is a thicket of history and habit and self story

thorny and tangled

choked and dense

it pulls at my clothes, catches and nicks my skin as I work my way through, slow work, salty and stinging

But I am clearing, I am.


my mind tries to attach a picture, of a garden gate, or other archway, but the path is not that clear, and not clear like that

it is more that suddenly I’ve cleared enough to see the fiddleheads tucked down into the loaming leaves, I can see the greening vines, tendrils wrapped around a thousand thousand textures of bark, lichen and stone… I have cleared enough so there is space enough to see the beauty in the tangle, to feel a change in the way the air moves, to see a change in the way light slants in


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One thought on “thicket

  1. For Kate to read aloud–
    Dante, The Inferno, Canto 1:

    ” Midway on our life’s journey, I found myself
    In dark woods, the right road lost. To tell
    About those woods is hard–so tangled and rough

    And savage that thinking of it now, I feel
    The old fear stirring: death is hardly more bitter.
    And yet, to treat the good I found there as well

    I’ll tell what I saw, though how I came to enter
    I cannot well say, being so full of sleep
    Whatever moment it was I began to blunder

    Off the true path. But when I came to stop
    Below a hill that marked one end of the valley
    That had pierced my heart with terror, I looked up

    Toward the crest and saw its shoulders already
    Mantled in rays of that bright planet that shows
    The road to everyone, whatever our journey.

    Then I could feel the terror begin to ease
    That churned in my heart’s lake all through the night.
    As one still panting, ashore from dangerous seas,

    Looks back at the deep he has escaped, my thought
    Returned, still fleeing, to regard that dim defile
    That never left anyone alive who stayed in it….”

    Translated-Robert Pinsky

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