“I had a farm in Africa. . . . .” So begins the movie “Out of Africa” with its magnificent vistas of place and the complexities of individuals and society. It is a true story based on a transformational segment of Isak Dinisen’s life. Robert Redford and Meryl Streep flawlessly portray Dennis and Karin, multi-dimensional characters whose love story is passionate, strong and unshakeable. Throughout the movie, the depths and nuances of their personalities are revealed and challenged and grow in depth and breadth. Stereotypes and limitations of society and culture are exposed and dismantled. I’ve watched this film numerous times and as I have changed, I’m able to garner deeper meanings from the message. I highly recommend Out of Africa.
I had a farm in Washington. . . . So begins a transformational segment in my life. True, my farm belonged to others; they generously invited me to make it my own. I cleaned and painted the inside, weeded and planted on the outside. I fed horses and cats, drove tractors, chased coyotes, adopted Sophie, walked for miles on back country roads, sat mesmerized by morning mist. I ventured alone into the mountains and to the seaside, found really good coffee shops, met extremely talented poets and artists, rode the ferry to the islands and the Amtrak to Seattle. My great love story was with my daughter and son-in-law and my grandchildren just a mile down the road, and with my newly retired and emerging self. Our characters unfolded over time, we grew more deeply connected.
I needed this time, more than I could have imagined. For three years, I let go of what had been my familiar landscapes of work and relationships, beliefs and ways of being, and beloved geographic underpinnings. In so doing, I found spaciousness, room to welcome and embrace the new. I also was able to re-member the past, allow it to settle into place in memory, gilded with a fresh patina of appreciation. I found new strength and clarity. I learned how to listen to the All around me and within me; how to express the All in words and photographs. I learned how to love larger and fall into Love everyday.
I had a farm in Washington. . . .
I had a farm in Washington. . . . So begins a transformational segment in my life. True, my farm belonged to others; they generously invited me to make it my own. I cleaned and painted the inside, weeded and planted on the outside. I fed horses and cats, drove tractors, chased coyotes, adopted Sophie, walked for miles on back country roads, sat mesmerized by morning mist. I ventured alone into the mountains and to the seaside, found really good coffee shops, met extremely talented poets and artists, rode the ferry to the islands and the Amtrak to Seattle. My great love story was with my daughter and son-in-law and my grandchildren just a mile down the road, and with my newly retired and emerging self. Our characters unfolded over time, we grew more deeply connected.
I needed this time, more than I could have imagined. For three years, I let go of what had been my familiar landscapes of work and relationships, beliefs and ways of being, and beloved geographic underpinnings. In so doing, I found spaciousness, room to welcome and embrace the new. I also was able to re-member the past, allow it to settle into place in memory, gilded with a fresh patina of appreciation. I found new strength and clarity. I learned how to listen to the All around me and within me; how to express the All in words and photographs. I learned how to love larger and fall into Love everyday.
I had a farm in Washington. . . .
numbers
hidden from the prying eyes
of old familiars
far from prattling voices of the shoulds
I have become an origami master
yesterday I set four
brightly colored birds aflutter
in late evening twilight
last week seven tiny boats
scuttled out to sea
the new moon beckons to
my many petaled flowers
darkness broke the bloody dagger,
the shield, the sword
sixty-seven train cars stuffed
with memories and clutter
hauled out from the interior
sit empty
rusting in tall grass
thin origami papers blown free
- © 2011 pab -
hidden from the prying eyes
of old familiars
far from prattling voices of the shoulds
I have become an origami master
yesterday I set four
brightly colored birds aflutter
in late evening twilight
last week seven tiny boats
scuttled out to sea
the new moon beckons to
my many petaled flowers
darkness broke the bloody dagger,
the shield, the sword
sixty-seven train cars stuffed
with memories and clutter
hauled out from the interior
sit empty
rusting in tall grass
thin origami papers blown free
- © 2011 pab -
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