It is with much sorrow that I have to accept my denial to study at Oxford this summer. The news came by post and fell into my hands like the scorching letter 'A'. My initial reaction was one of embarrassment, as I had configured a fantastical tour of London and the Abbey's with my closest friends and family. I still have not informed them of this defeat. My hope is they will forgive my premature planning and move on as if Oxford was never an option. The next stage was one of introspective reasoning. Where has my desire to write among pioneers of such a luxurious language led me? Am I to be relinquished among the doubts and insecurities, which plague English teachers, for the rest of my career? The apricot trees in Santa Fe mesmerized my imagination and I have been longing for the Tudor ceiling beams in desperate hopes of rekindling my love affair with words. The question that I am struggling with is the very same question I asked my sister only a couple of weeks ago: "What defines you?" I have to swallow my own response and say that this decision cannot define me. The things which define me are around me on a daily basis, and a passport will not add to that definition. I will be spending my summer in Vermont, at the flagship campus on which Robert Frost professed his admiration for the students. The golden buildings that rise out of the sparkling snow in February will be my home. Though I have yet to see them among the spouting grass in summer, I cannot think my father was wrong when he detoured our drive to Burlington to let me know what future could be awaiting me. Tudors will have to wait, for now, as I begin this new affair with the history of Bread Loaf among the whispers of Seamus Heany and the camaraderie of Frost enthusiasts. Each semester I begin my classes with a reading of "The Road Not Taken"; this poem has sentimental meaning to many readers, yet mine comes from my own father's recitation of it during my bleakest moment. "Honor" is not what I feel as I accept my post among the brilliant landscape in Vermont, which is only accessible from the back roads. I am humbled and ecstatic, with the knowledge that my father would never steer me in the wrong direction.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Amtrak Romance
I am in need of a good romance, and here is the best one I wrote. I am hungry for travel, can you tell?
Finally, you have shown your majesty! I have been waiting for you since last night, as I tried to appease my longing by playing childish games with the Prairies. My only solace was knowing that you had no choice but to come; it was only a question of daylight, as I prayed you would not be shrouded by the darkness that can be so cruel and unforgiving to your countenance.
I am shocked by the smoothness of your face up-close. Ha! And you have fooled us all! Hardly a blemish, though you must be guarding your past within the lines that run deep within your surface.
The snow is trying, desperately at times, to cover your amber rocks and prickly vegetation. But you know, it is too early just yet to allow these to slumber.
There’s a tiny, frozen pond, guarded by Spruce, that has sealed its surface with ice from the migrating birds for the season. Unlike the soil, it cannot wait any longer to sleep.
Your city is below us, so far that the skyscrapers look like toothpicks rising out of your base. The sky is clear, but it only gets bluer as we ascend.
A barbed wire fence warns of a ranch, but the only signs of life are the grey, bristly plants that have no interest in admiration.
Every so often we glide through a tunnel and your jagged, blasted walls make me thankful for your graciousness. You may threaten a collapse, but maybe only to those who are unworthy. The locomotive cracks and creaks around your curves, careful to respect your temperamental invitation. As I peer over your side I wonder how many you have thrown off before us in their vain attempts to speed. In all of our greed you have allowed us passage for a price that some think is too steep. You have forbidden us to travel through you, unnoticed. After all these years it is finally clear to me who is the Jester and who is the Queen.
As we bend through a tunnel my head begins to feel your massive height. Maybe my brain is going to explode out of my ears, or maybe that’s just how it feels. When we leave the darkness of this manmade womb, I am greeted by your pines and snow that have conquered the beautiful shades of orange and your scraggly shrubs. It is the only life form fit enough for your summit.
But wait!
Footprints in the snow uncover the sacred hiding place of the elusive cat!
What are you hiding up here?
A creature so misunderstood within our civilization that it can only find sanctuary on your highest peak. You are what myths are made of!
Where lines and cracks once were, the pines have revealed their unsurpassed omnipotence. They thrive on the absence of oxygen, their height towering above their cousins down below. They taunt the greedy consumer, though you have protected them with your impassible terrain.
Far ahead of us looms the snowy peaks of your siblings. They soar so far into the blue that I mistook them for clouds! What a fool I am to think a cloud would dare blemish this scene!
There is a foreign rumbling coming from the earth, and at first I mistake it as a grumbling coming from you.
Then it’s source sheepishly reveals itself; a freight muscles past us and for a moment I am shaken from this romance. But it doesn’t take me long to realize that the slow, lumbering cars filled with coal have a way with seduction, and the passion continues.
They told me of the Bald Eagles and coyotes. They said you hid them well but often exposed them as a reminder of your glory. You must have outsmarted me this time, as I press my head against the glass, eager to see my kindred spirit, but your trees are guarding them well. You have this way of taunting me, but I will be back.
I see you have finally allowed the water to flow from your peak! After years of turmoil between you and the river, it looks like you have given into your ego and allowed her to cleave smoothness into your roughness. She allows you to have life and as she carves her way deeper into your core she exposes more and more of your guarded wisdom. I can see that it has taken you years to cooperate, and with all due respect, I think she is more powerful than you.
Sadly, I see our affair is coming to an amicable end. Pavement is visible and residents are threatening our privacy. Power lines are beginning to bully their way into our secret and I think some are becoming suspicious of us. As the pines start welcoming the leafless tress back to their neighborhood, and the rocks become slippery with moss, our time is quickly running out. So I bid you farewell, but find comfort in the fact that we will meet again. Not to worry, your beauty will not be marred by disrespect or greed; you have proven yourself stronger than that. As the light creeps further west, your face resigns itself to youth and I will bow out gracefully, thankful that the desert is on its way.
Finally, you have shown your majesty! I have been waiting for you since last night, as I tried to appease my longing by playing childish games with the Prairies. My only solace was knowing that you had no choice but to come; it was only a question of daylight, as I prayed you would not be shrouded by the darkness that can be so cruel and unforgiving to your countenance.
I am shocked by the smoothness of your face up-close. Ha! And you have fooled us all! Hardly a blemish, though you must be guarding your past within the lines that run deep within your surface.
The snow is trying, desperately at times, to cover your amber rocks and prickly vegetation. But you know, it is too early just yet to allow these to slumber.
There’s a tiny, frozen pond, guarded by Spruce, that has sealed its surface with ice from the migrating birds for the season. Unlike the soil, it cannot wait any longer to sleep.
Your city is below us, so far that the skyscrapers look like toothpicks rising out of your base. The sky is clear, but it only gets bluer as we ascend.
A barbed wire fence warns of a ranch, but the only signs of life are the grey, bristly plants that have no interest in admiration.
Every so often we glide through a tunnel and your jagged, blasted walls make me thankful for your graciousness. You may threaten a collapse, but maybe only to those who are unworthy. The locomotive cracks and creaks around your curves, careful to respect your temperamental invitation. As I peer over your side I wonder how many you have thrown off before us in their vain attempts to speed. In all of our greed you have allowed us passage for a price that some think is too steep. You have forbidden us to travel through you, unnoticed. After all these years it is finally clear to me who is the Jester and who is the Queen.
As we bend through a tunnel my head begins to feel your massive height. Maybe my brain is going to explode out of my ears, or maybe that’s just how it feels. When we leave the darkness of this manmade womb, I am greeted by your pines and snow that have conquered the beautiful shades of orange and your scraggly shrubs. It is the only life form fit enough for your summit.
But wait!
Footprints in the snow uncover the sacred hiding place of the elusive cat!
What are you hiding up here?
A creature so misunderstood within our civilization that it can only find sanctuary on your highest peak. You are what myths are made of!
Where lines and cracks once were, the pines have revealed their unsurpassed omnipotence. They thrive on the absence of oxygen, their height towering above their cousins down below. They taunt the greedy consumer, though you have protected them with your impassible terrain.
Far ahead of us looms the snowy peaks of your siblings. They soar so far into the blue that I mistook them for clouds! What a fool I am to think a cloud would dare blemish this scene!
There is a foreign rumbling coming from the earth, and at first I mistake it as a grumbling coming from you.
Then it’s source sheepishly reveals itself; a freight muscles past us and for a moment I am shaken from this romance. But it doesn’t take me long to realize that the slow, lumbering cars filled with coal have a way with seduction, and the passion continues.
They told me of the Bald Eagles and coyotes. They said you hid them well but often exposed them as a reminder of your glory. You must have outsmarted me this time, as I press my head against the glass, eager to see my kindred spirit, but your trees are guarding them well. You have this way of taunting me, but I will be back.
I see you have finally allowed the water to flow from your peak! After years of turmoil between you and the river, it looks like you have given into your ego and allowed her to cleave smoothness into your roughness. She allows you to have life and as she carves her way deeper into your core she exposes more and more of your guarded wisdom. I can see that it has taken you years to cooperate, and with all due respect, I think she is more powerful than you.
Sadly, I see our affair is coming to an amicable end. Pavement is visible and residents are threatening our privacy. Power lines are beginning to bully their way into our secret and I think some are becoming suspicious of us. As the pines start welcoming the leafless tress back to their neighborhood, and the rocks become slippery with moss, our time is quickly running out. So I bid you farewell, but find comfort in the fact that we will meet again. Not to worry, your beauty will not be marred by disrespect or greed; you have proven yourself stronger than that. As the light creeps further west, your face resigns itself to youth and I will bow out gracefully, thankful that the desert is on its way.
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