The Moon's Distant Call

It's yet another rainy fall day and I'm beginning to wonder what happened to the dry Arkansas weather I remember from childhood. Still, there are moments that aren't to be missed if you are paying attention. Right now, I wait for a break in the rain and take long walks along the dirt (mud) road that runs by our house and check out the autumnal changes. Although it's hard to see through the mist and rain, the leaves appear to be coloring earlier this year. We are headed towards Western North Carolina, the Blue Ridge and Smokey Mountains soon, hoping to see the best of fall in several states: Ar, TN, and NC.

In the meantime, I find plenty of beauty to celebrate right here at home. I wanted to post a little poem I managed to fit in between the screenplay, the novel, the cookbook and a couple of readings. I wanted to briefly remind my writers and readers that all you really have to do is pay attention, be present with your surroundings, and the beauty will appear. Then, if you want to share it, don't forget to write it, paint it, sculpt it, play it into a song. Sharing beauty is like spreading the wealth--it increases every time you pass it on. Someone will be inspired.

To bring the point home, I will tell you a brief story: The other day Leigh discovered an obituary on the web that was written for a wonderful man from Oklahoma. It seems the family had used one of our hospice publications during his illness. In that publication is a poem I wrote called "Leaving." And in this obituary of a man I did not know, was a quote from my poem. It brought tears of gratitude to my eyes to know that some folks I've never met were touched by this poem, enough to include it in a final statement about their beloved father, grandfather, husband. You never know whose lives you will touch when you put your work out there, so do it. In this world, at this time, we need all the inspiration and beauty we can get.

The Moon's Distant Call

Last night, luxuriating
in the steaming waters of our tiny hot tub,
watching the day go down to dusk,
I saw what I thought was a hummingbird
perched in the river birch beside the steps.
She sat so still, I grew confused:
bird...leaf...bird...leaf...bird?
She appeared to be watching the waxing moon;
slender as my little finger, green as a twig,
a furled leaf not yet flown.
I could swear she was watching the harvest moon
ballooning huge above the Ozarks.
Her tiny shoulders slightly slumped,
as if considering the long flight
from Fayetteville to Mexico on 1" wings.
But mostly she seemed, like me, lost
in the beauty of a 3/4 moonrise on a cooling breeze.
Motionless, she remained among the branches
until I gave her up for leaf at last
and looked away.
When I happened to glance back,
she was gone. Not a leaf then!
Not a leaf! But a moon-lover like myself,
there now, sipping her last
from the feeder before bed,
as I must have my chocolate chips
to sleep through the night–
with a large moon beckoning,
keeping watch
for wherever we might land tomorrow.

Mendy Knott Oct. 2009

Fish Tale: A Love Story

I've decided to change my format, and have a couple of things in mind to see if they will help with the frequency of my blogging. I'm in the process of learning to use a laptop, so that should keep these darn entries a little shorter, at least for a time. And I've decided that I need to write a little more about everyday things as opposed to an entry I feel I must compose and make perfect everytime before I post it. As you can see, this can prevent me from blogging at all for long periods of time. But now I have this laptop thing, well, shoot, I can take you to the screened in porch (porch-sittin') or lounge in front of the fire (fire-sittin') and maybe put you in the boat and take you fishing, although this would elicit strong disapproval from my partner, no doubt, since really, the water would be mere inches from my computer.

Speaking of fishing, however, let me take you on a little Saturday morning ride in the "Fish Tale" which is the name of my tiny '70's Sears boat which sports a trolling motor only. The boat looks like one of those old-fashioned life boats when they were made from aluminum--something an Atlantic fisherman might use in times of trouble. It has a V-hull and is no more than 10 feet long. This makes finding a trailer for it quite difficult. So I just load it up in the back of my Toyota pick-up, strap it in (yes, I know how that sounds), and drive the 10 miles down the road to little Wedington Lake. This 170 acre lake was dug by mules by the CCC when times were nearly as tough as they are now. Let's dig some more spring-fed lakes, and clear some paths, and build cabins and lodges instead of highways and starting wars. Sound like a plan, anyone?

So, it's Saturday morning, early, like before 7 am. You really must get up early if you are an artist or a fisherman in order to nab some of the best time of the day. I'm not kidding about that. Leigh helps me get the boat on the truck, then leaves me to my own devices as to how to get it off again at the lake. It's not so hard with a ramp. The happy part is that I'm on my own. Here is another lesson for you creative types--time alone is absolutely necessary. You don't have to be writing or painting to need it either. You need to just be alone doing something fun or doing nothing at all. Got it? Things happen then.

I shove off. It's about 50 degrees and I'm pretty bundled. I've got this little Rapala thermos full of hot coffee my friend Kam sent me, a tackle box, two rods, an oar, and my trolling motor. The mist is still rising off the lake. Wispy ghosts rise in peaks and spikes, then disappear about five feet above the water. I hear a woodpecker's jungly call. I see one of those precious little green herons hanging by the water watching for minnows. I take some pictures, torn because I really should have a line in the water by now, but I NEED these few photos. Maybe I'll include one here if I can figure it out, or make Leigh help me. It is so quiet, although there are a few campers in the campground ( a place I highly recommend for the roughin' it type). Soon enough I'll smell their campfires, but for now I feel like I have just discovered this tiny paradise for the first time. I am alone on a lake with the sun beginning to peak above the tree line. It just doesn't get much better than that.

Except then I catch some fish! Yeah, two big beautiful catfish, all sleek and blue-gray, clean and sleek as a brand new car. They hit hard and put up a good fight. Took me off guard. I love that kind of surprise. Then I caught a couple of the prettiest goggle eye I've ever seen. Beatuiful, easy to unhook, fun to return to the lake. I only keep the ones I plan to cook. Usually I have one fish fry a year. The rest of the time, it's catch and release, which is easier on both me and the fish.

I was out about four hours, circling around, casting, drifting, drinking coffee and soaking up nature. I still had plenty of time when I got home to do some chores and go watch the football game with friends later. (Go Hogs!) Yet it changed everything for me. My day was holy, then, sacred and special. I felt I had brushed the fingertips of god as we both passed through creation in that misty early morning light. This is where I find the greatest joy in being creative; where I gather my greatest lessons. Alone, in nature, paying attention. Really, try it sometime. It will change your day.