thankful that it's Advent

We missed you all around the Thanksgiving table; we look forward to seeing many at Christmas. Our tradition is to leave a chair for 'Elijah'--or any guest that needs the hospitality.

Reading these blog posts has been rewarding. I had never heard that 'Boston Strong' story, Jon, the brush with fate and people on the move.

So much happens in short time, and part of this poem-a-week project has been to reflect on recent stimuli--like the Yasmina Reza play Katerina and I saw last night, swirling with various conflations. Just as likely, though, are the stories of yesteryear, and that is what inspired the following, the need for reunions whenever they can come. The 'Cohasset' is, as we know, in Itasca County (not near Boston) and I'd love to put a more identifying visual with this poem than the passing eagles:

Lost and Found

That drive around Cohasset

on gravel roads and mud-bake

in a vehicle that couldn’t care

if we’d ever get to Sugar Lake,

one of three beyond our GPS,

where Uncle Josh would wait—

that drive awakened eaglets in

the back seat, lying low of late.

Because heaven was at hand.

You’d grip the steering wheel

to summon all that Lincoln

said—angels in a vast appeal

to launch the party reverently,

lonely roads to bridge the way;

sure, the eaglets soon will fly

beyond the dust that is today.

Where they’ll go? It’s almost

anybody’s say. The notion of

a ’homing’ gene means some-

how fields and floods of love

can coexist in parity. Tell that

to Ophelia, galvanizing Hamlet

to a world walked trippingly,

all routes heading to Cohasset.