The closer one lives to the land, the less one distrusts time.
Hal Borland
I’ve been feeling scattered lately. Unsettled. Thinking a lot about time, life, choices. Trying to make sense of things. So far, I haven’t made much progress. It’s like I keep trying to walk a straight line on a curving path. I continually feel a bit askew. A bit lost.
About a week ago I stumbled upon David Wagoner’s poem, “Lost“. I’ve read it again and again and again since then. It begins like this:
“Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,”
I don’t know much, but I do know that anything I do to connect with the natural world yields rich dividends for me. I was struck by the idea that even when I may feel lost, the landscape around me (literal and metaphorical) is not. Whatever surrounds me is “Here” and worth meeting and knowing. My perspective of being lost is simply that, a perspective. As such, it can be changed.
The poem ends with these lines:
“If what a tree or bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
where you are. You must let it find you.”
So, over my much anticipated spring break, I wandered a bit, here and there. To the bay. To the river. To the woods. To the marsh. Seeking to reconnect with the natural world and with myself in some way. Trying to reconfigure the pieces into a cohesive whole. Trying to open myself to knowing the “here” and to letting the world around me find me.
Invitation
Come sit a while
Don’t overlook
the simple wooden bench
on greening grass
Be open to the allure
of scudding clouds
budding tree
and bluest sky
Slough off your sorrow
Seek joy in blackbird’s call
Turn your face
to the fledgling warmth
of spring sun
Let hope spark
Open yourself
to a deeper knowing
Let this place
cast its spell
Come sit a while
©Molly Hogan
The Poetry Friday Roundup this week is at Jone Rush Macculloch’s blog.
Nix the comfort zone 
Oh Molly, this is a beautiful, heartfelt post. I love the ‘Lost’ poem and will read it again many times, I suspect. I am sorry you have felt scattered and lost, and I hope that nature can help you heal and settle. From a fellow wanderer (mostly near water) I know that nature really does help.
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Thanks, Sally. I enjoyed some more wandering this morning. It definitely helps!
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What honesty in, “I don’t know much, but I do know that anything I do to connect with the natural world yields rich dividends for me.” Reading this post is like reading a compass. I feel like I can find NORTH. Keep going Molly. You have so many beautiful poems in you.
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What a lovely comment! Thanks, Linda!
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Yes, keep going, but also–sit a while. And another, and another. I adore that Wagoner poem and have used it with kids. It is both mysterious, almost endangering, and yet soothing and safe. Yours also offers pause and rest and grounding.
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The poem was a serendipitous discovery for me. I love knowing that it’s well known to you and that you’ve used it with kids.
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This is so gorgeous, Molly. There is so much beauty that we do overlook, but so much we lose when we don’t notice the “scudding clouds” or feel the “fledgling warmth” on our skin. Thank you for this invitation to “come sit a while.”
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Thanks, Catherine! I need to remind myself to accept those invitations! They are certainly there when you keep your eyes open..
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Yes, let this place cast a spell. Love the image. And thanks for introducing “scudding” to me. It’s been quite windy this April. I’ll check today for some scudding clouds.
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With the wind we’ve been having, you should be able to find plenty of scudding clouds!
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I recently read a post where someone discovered that when their “ever-crying” baby could not be settled, when they took her outside, she quieted. Like you, Molly, they learned the power of the out-of-doors. I’m sorry you’re experiencing a tough time, and always enjoy what you share from your outside times. The poem “Lost” then your response is comforting, the knowing of what can soothe. Thank you!
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Thanks, Linda. I was outside wandering again today and it settled me, just like that baby!
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This is such a moving post. You put in to words what it is that renews me when I’m outside among the trees. “Come sit a while.” That wooden bench is so inviting.
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There’s something so inviting about an empty wooden bench and a view, isn’t there?
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Lovely sharing, Molly! I have this feeling from time to time also. I will look for the David Wagoner poem, and treasure your poem. Thank you!!!
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Thanks for the reminder that a bench under “scudding clouds” can be a place of magic. And thanks for the introduction to Wagoner’s poem. 🙂
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There’s magic out there…you just have to pause for a bit to notice it. I’m glad you enjoyed the Wagoner poem, too.
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Molly, the Wagoner poem and your “response” are a beautiful pairing. The invitation alone – to sit awhile and let a place cast its spell – is healing. Thank you!
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I am ready to sit awhile, Molly, and let nature soak in its sunshine elements. You found your way back home through nature and your writing. Beautiful thought that holds wisdom:
Open yourself
to a deeper knowing
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Well, this is really lovely. I’m feeling that ‘unsettled’ with you; thanks for a reminder of that most reliable Rx.
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It’s a very reliable Rx, isn’t it!? And it treats a host of symptoms!
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The magic of being present, of listening to Here. Sending you hugs!
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Thanks, Tabatha.
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Ahh…thank you for this invitation and reminder.
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Gosh, I know that feeling, Molly. Lots of stuff going on at the moment and feeling a bit disconnected and adrift myself. Your words — first prose than poetry — have captured much of it. Wishing you reconnection and clarity, too.
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It’s been a year, for sure. I know you appreciate a good dose of Mother Nature as much as I do. Wishing you plenty of time to bask outside and find your own reconnection.
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Agreed. You, too, Molly.
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I know it’s a slightly different perspective, but your post also brought to mind the famous Tolkien quote from Fellowship of the Ring, “Not all those who wander are lost.” I”m glad I wandered over here today, Molly. This post and your poem helped to center me.
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I think that quote is actually quite connected (and it’s a favorite with my Tolkien loving family). I’m starting to think that a traveler might think they are lost, but maybe they are still on the path of their journey and need to come to know their new surroundings.
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I understand the feeling of being lost more than you know. I’ve found grounding in family lately. Your invitation to sit with you on the small wooden bench is calming. Your genuine empathy helps me. Thanks!
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Family is so grounding. Sending love and sympathy, Margaret. And always empathy.
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This is so beautiful, Molly. Your opening lines reminded me of words from Virginia Woolf: “Why is life so tragic; so like a little strip of pavement over an abyss. I look down; I feel giddy; I wonder how I am ever to walk to the end.” Wagoner’s poem offers such a healing antidote — it reminds me of Wendell Berry’s “The Peace of Wild Things.” And the final words in your healing balm of a poem are reminding me of something, too, something out of my grasp (oooh, don’t you hate when that happens?) Perhaps it’s not so much a reminder as a call. Thanks for this.
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Thanks! That quote from Virginia Wolf is … wow! I’m so glad you shared it. And “The Peace of Wild Things” is one of my all time favorites.
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