poem: Morning Inversion

for T.

warm air hugs our ground at dawn, trapping the land's moisture

   given up by greenery and old tires, streams and cookpots.

  there is woodsmoke in the air, and if our volcano was active

last night, some of his offerings as well as that black choking

 particle matter of diesel that makes it so hard for me to breathe

after a visit to your piece of heaven up north.

 

and perhaps these are worlds apart, but we share: that mist

  in the morning, filling valleys and hollows, hiding our true heart

 and making life safe for contemplating the improbable; a river

     of white that reminds of us of passing years but shields us

   temporarily from the assessment of passersby. in the early hours

 up becomes down and troposhere touches dust.  

and magic happened somewhere along the way; i held a blanket

   to my chest and imbibed the warmth of distant migratory birds today

 coming my direction, even as my breath hung suspended as mist

         in the air, matching in intensity if not actual breadth

 of the ephemeral wraiths trailing outside my window. and though

  i set intent last night, there are no answers in the fog this day.

   not yet have they graced my doorway.

but pull up a chair and wrap something around your shoulders

  warm to keep out the dew, and i will share a cup of tea,

       right side up, steam rising like wisps leftover from dreams.

   we can savor the morning's possibility before the day's

responsibilities grip me like the self-important presence

    of delivery trucks spewing their hard diesel and clambering noise

  into the softness of morning serenity.    

Author's Note

written for a friend 4000 miles away in the north woods.
I live at the edge of a big city, he lives in the exact middle of nowhere. we both love mountains and the morning mist from the meteorological phenomena known as "inversion" whereby one layer of air gets trapped under another, causing morning fog to rise like the ocean.

photo is my own

Reviews

[h d e rushin]

living in a city for so long (as I have) means that everything is upright,incongruous and harmful,
sometimes incapable of being convinced. My wish is to be somewhere incapable of being
corrupted. The greatest argument against nature is that it is too extraordinary; that serenity
is a natural occurrence and not a thing you seek out like in the reading room of the library.
But that argument is both cocksure and presumptuous. Cities are what fiberglass is for...lol.

You never stop amazing me with your range and surety/ a wonderful work dear friend.
dana

[Marie Anzalone]

I am surprised to learn that people Hard for me to imagine beig can be "against nature." I guess it makes sense, but, wow. I grew up watching migratory patterns of birds. Hard for me to imagine an inflexible environment, all the time.

As for the range, I would get bored doing the same thing all of the time. I like to get out there and push myself to try new styles, develop new forms, try on new ways of seeing my world. Keepsme on my toes. :-)

[Swetha]

i live at the heart of an extremely polluted city and i have often longed to see the natural fog...but of course all i get is the disease-inducing smog. thanks for reminding me about the purity of nature that we so carelessly contaminate...

[Marie Anzalone]

Thanks, Swetha. I live in a large Latin American city; they are not much better. The advantage we have here is early mornings are quieter; we get an hour or two before the contamination really sinks in. Th ecloudfalls over our forested peaks is really quite amazing.

Thanks for checking out my work today. :-)

[TL Boehm]

I want to move now. Out of the city - someplace else. Real. With dirt and trees and water that moves. This was a word photograph - a moving picture. Beautiful and real.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thanks, TL, I appreciate the review and the sharing of the thoughts that this piece evoked for you. Even in the city here, our proximity to reality and natural processes makes me feel better tha living near/ around metro complexes in the US