The Wise Trees

December 26, 2012
Wednesday
The Feast of Stephen

All the complicated details
of the attiring and
the disattiring are completed!
A liquid moon
moves gently among
the long branches.
Thus having prepared their buds
against a sure winter
the wise trees
stand sleeping in the cold.
— William Carlos Williams, 1883-1963
American physician and poet
 

Today, I take up once again a practice I adopted on this day last year, and then let drop. I get a Poem-A-Day in an email every morning from the Academy of American Poets. Most days I read it, but some days I don’t, and I haven’t been keeping track. 

I was up this morning before 5:15. I needed to be at church by 7:00 to help clear the pews of hymnals, contact cards, pencils, and other stuff people leave behind, so that work crews can get busy on installing new upholstery and refinishing the wood. It’s the 25th anniversary of the beginning of the congregation, the 20th anniversary of the building. A lot of scratches, wax droplets, and juice box stains can accrue with that much use. 

So I went out this morning, on the Feast of Stephen. The snow that fell yesterday and gave a picturesque quality to the landscape had mostly melted, but the air was clear and the hour hushed. For many years I have begun my new year on this date, which was my father’s birthday. He’d be 96 now, my mother 101. 

I had my C&C, charted my course for the next few days. This is liminal space, a time between times, a time to disengage from all the complicated details of rockin’ around the Christmas tree and move back into all the complicated details of the work we must be about. Before I left for church, I took this picture of the wise trees that stand sentry at my comings and my goings.

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