life is neat.

So about 2 years ago I woke up at my mom’s house feeling the worst I’d ever felt in my life. The morning before I’d crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and flown home from California after deciding to leave my little home in the redwoods the day before that. All I really knew was that the way I felt was the opposite of the way life actually was and thus I’d done something along the way that ruined everything everywhere forever.

Then I picked up a random book off the shelf and opened to a random page and this is what happened:

In Muir Woods

Last night, a giant redwood fell
either from old age, disease, or
“sometimes they just give up,” the ranger said.

Listen, I was in the woods, I
heard it too, like my own death
falling inside me.

Here in the last of the old growth forests
where some trees are still virginal,
some older than Moses,

I thought, then, of you. You are not the one
dying, you said to me,
and I quoted to you from Montaigne

that death was not a proper object of fear
but only the end of life.
What is a proper object of fear, you asked,

and I said death of the heart.
But life, you said, was
everything. And you were in love

with that beautiful lie.

Sometimes these trees send out
all their sap at once
making them vulnerable, sometimes,

they grow burls of anxiety

Look, the ranger said to us,
the bark is so wet because the tree
drinks hundreds of gallons of water a day

from the fog that rolls in
over the Golden Gate Bridge.
That bridge which is so beautiful and which

holds such promise for tomorrow
with its blue shimmering bay.
Every day when I see the fog now,

I think of you and can almost
feel the fog cover me with
that enveloping mist, can almost feel

the branches of the redwood
being kissed by its cold
ministrations. I would, if I could,

stand here all day like these trees, but my
heart is so sore, it is almost ready to burst,
and I am filled, suddenly,

with a wild and insatiable thirst.


–June Beisch


I just pulled that book off of the shelf again and opened to that page so I thought I’d write to June and tell her how much her poem means to me but it seems she’s dead so I thought sharing her poem again might be a better way to thank her anyway.

I have no idea how this world works but I think it’s pretty neat.

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