LiberalEsto

Thank you, Sweetcherrie! Happy new year!

Thank you, Wyvern. Kirja wonders if she should ask to borrow the Yulebesorry Treenet some time, since she lives Just Outside the Beltway in Maryland. It might be jolly fun using it to fish for unwary politicos in the Capitol for a few minutes, before Homeland Security ensnares her and hauls her away for interrogation. On the other hand, it might be more prudent to stay home and compose cranky letters to the editor. It also occurs to Kirja to soothe Wyvern by pointing out that the lumberjacks are, after all, lumberjacks, and they're okay. They sleep all night and they work all day. Even if they are a wee bit feisty. Kirja toasts Wyvern, Peredhil and Happy Buddha with a cup of hot cider, and sits back to ponder the meaning of it all.

Thank you, Happy Buddha! What a lovely warm welcome you and Peredhil have given me! Kirja

Thank you, Peredhil. It feels right to be here. Kirja

The Search I am digging the wrong soil. This is the red, serious clay of Central Maryland, of the piedmont parted by the Potomac’s path to the blue-gray waters of the singing Chesapeake. This soil has its own rituals and rememberings. Tall corn seed and ancestors were buried here; offerings were made to them. My own ancestors lie in a stone-fenced grove, in black and battle-worn soil that redeems generation after generation. Once I raked it carefully into fine lines around the headstones of grandparents, longing for time to plant something and give it water, watch the first leaves emerge, see it flower and yield seed. I wanted to eat fruit of my own planting, sustained by the same earth that fed those that came before me. But home is not there. I struggle to learn the land I inhabit. Caught in the great currents of air that travel between indifferent coasts, my spirit searches restlessly for a place to plant itself, to find that which all seeds and ancestors seek, the place to sleep, renew and then sustain. Dec. 6, 2005.

Oopsie! Kirja forgot that part. She never was very good at following directions. In college they called her "Foggy." Thank you Wyvern, for your comments and your Yulebesorry Treenet imagery. Kirja may want a battle shield to approach this year's Yule tree, just in case.

yuletree O yuletree sweet whose branches reach among the swimming stars, alight with singing birds. Whose spirit roots reach down among the stones, drinking from the wells of the world's center. Yuletree who catches birds and stars, who delves its roots among the stones of starry matter, who bridges earth and sky. Who is my spirit tree and shows me all the ways to dance slowly like the wheeling stars, to spin around the axis of myself. Who teaches me to bring the mud of earth to living light. Yuletree, my spirit climbs among your branches netted with stars and birds. My temporary hands feel living bark Or does my bark feel living hands? No matter. Or all matter. All movement, impulse, form All feathered, flying; Lighting, safe wings folded, watching stones spin and stars most steadily enduring. Anita Susi 12/15/02