I dreamed of Steven Hawking

I dreamed I met Steven Hawking at Bluegrass Airport in Lexington, Kentucky
And I maneuvered his infirm body into a rental car and drove him southwest
From Lexington toward the palisades along the Kentucky River
And on up the hill from Asbury to Pleasant Hill, an old Shaker community,
Where those early pilgrim souls, descendants of John Bunyan, Milton and Donne,
Sought their Utopia in the verdant hills of the Bluegrass of Olde Kentucky.
Parking our vehicle in the blacktopped parking lot, I pushed him up
To the collection of simple Shaker buildings, still and dignified
And ended his journey in a broad green space between the buildings
Where the grassy field was bounded by white-washed wooden fences
And the invisible breezes of April blew against our faces.
Squatting on my knees, down before his wheelchair,
I stared into his corrected eyes and asked him to stop
The meandering of his mind for a brief moment
And feel for the soft touch, the prompting of his heart
And search for the presence of God, the Creator of his mind
And body and the beauteous hills rolling out around us.
The mechanism of creation might just then lead him to the mechanic there.

FFV

I did some research on wikipedia tonight. I looked up First Families of Virginia. They had a list of family names. Interestingly, Baynham was on the list. So were Morris and Carr. Nice to be part of the group.I think that and a dollar or three, depending on where you go, will get you a cup of coffee. If you drink coffee. There was a news story about the noted, crippled theoretical physicist, Steven Hawking. After writing books about the origin of the universe. After writing about the scientific basis for the universe (based, of course, on "theoretical physics") he decided to explain that there was no scientific basis for God as the creator. The problem with this, as I see it, is that there doesn't have to be a scientific explanation for God. I always thought that the study of god was theology. Perhaps I will look to a theologian for information about God's nature and a physician for information about the physical world.

Moments Kept

There are some moments you never forget. I remember when we were visiting grandmommie and granddaddy at the farm and Frank fell into the hog wallow face first and walked up to the front door covered in that dark green-grey slop from head to toe. Grandaddy didn't recognize him. I remember walking across the fields to find cow carcasses lying at the edge of the woods. Taking home molars from the jawbone. Trolling across the hard-frozen pastures, looking for game. Quail, rabbits, whatever might flush as we breathed out the 'smoke' of late November. Following a rabbit starting away from us and watching as my dad turned and fired his 'sweet sixteen' and tearing that rabbit apart. Climbing up the wooden ladder into the loft above the stable and finding hen's eggs in crannies against the roof. Walking into the tobacco barn and smelling the remnants of the fired burley. Opening the smokehouse and smelling the hams and sausage long after they been taken down and consumed by the family. Eating bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches with homegrown tomatoes and my grandmother's own mayonnaise and a glass of iced tea in the summer. Warm, tart blackberry cobbler with vanilla ice cream.

Coldest Day

The snow blew in from the west
It was a grey, grey afternoon
In early December
In Northern Tennessee
An early blow
The thin funeral tent not much shelter
Thinking of Ms Jane and her thin, cotton coat
Not much comfort from the cold
We were all gathered
The whole of the congregation
Sitting on a hill above the Cumberland
And we paid the price of respect with our shivering
As the early whiteness fell:
The first snow of the season.

Driving with Cicadas

There was a lot of driving today, up to Hampton or Lovejoy and then to McDonough (pronounced Mik don a, you news heads from Atlanta). Later, I drove down to the jail/magistrate court in Forsyth. As I exited my vehicle, I noticed the eerie sound of cicadas in the trees. Afterward I discussed the advent of these noisy flying pests with Judge Davis and his clerk. I walked out of the justice center and climbed into my car. As I reached up to insert the key in the ignition, I noticed a cicada sitting on the cuff of my dress shirt, staring at me like I had trespassed on his domain. Instead of arguing his place in the world of Central Georgia, when these creatures lie dormant in the soil for thirteen years between appearances, I shook him off onto the floor. Later, when it started making his obnoxious noise, I smashed its fairly substantial body under a plastic jar I found on the floor. Afterward, I read that cicadas are delicacies in many parts of the world, particularly in Mediterrean regions such as Greece and Provence. I offered it to Cindy for her supper. She didn't take to the concept. I was puzzled by her refusal.

Decisions in the darkening world

I am lame. My left foot is betraying me. My ankles are swollen and I keep trying to walk it off without resolution. Two o'clock in the morning is a bad time to try to undertake something of even remote significance. A brighter person or at least one in control of himself would probably determine that it was in his best interest to go back to sleep. Between the stupid ads, the lawyer come-ons and the short educational programs on television at that time of night, you will be driven crazy. Even the PBS show on at this time is talking about education in Brasil. So, I should learn from media: I should go back to bed.

Daddy

He was born in the black patch
South of Christian
Walking the brown furrows, smoking a cigarette,
Row after row, Season to season, Chasing after game,
The grey barns billowing with smoke in Autumn,
On horseback, Good morning Jud, down Butch down,
On to college, riding the train down the black,
Smoky tunnel to dimness and coal dust
First class to reach the computer age:
International Business Machines
White Plains Armonk Schenectady New York
Engineers working with NASA
To help send Neil and Buzz to find Tranquility
On to Atlanta and Coca Cola and the Braves
And "Gone With the Wind" and MLK
In "a city too busy to hate"
Chasing after children and running tractors
Because he had the knowledge, the old farm boy,
To lay the slag, sweeten the soil,
Until we all looked like Eastern Kentucky coal miners
Breathing the dust, the smoke in the darkness
Until the night arrived, climbing those stairs
One last time back to the mountains, to the Chestatee
To ride the flow of my thoughts
The Summer sun reflecting on the waters,
Riding on toward the Gulf, forever.

"Atta Boy!"