Thanksgiving Day

Today I give thanks for the sun’s warming ray,

her goldenrod light turning night into day.

Feeling earth underfoot, whether mountain or plain,

to see sweeping of clouds, smell the sprinkle of rain.

A tree’s gentle breeze giving swell to my lung,

its fingertip nests raising songs yet unsung.

So thankful am I for my heart full of cheer,

friendships and laugh lines carved deeper each year.

With family beside me I sit down to feast,

and think of life’s glory—each snowflake, each beast.

My thanks for gorillas and whales and bees,

the bounty of life filling jungles and seas.

Today I give thanks in the sun’s warming ray,

just for being alive and the gift of this day.

But soon a full moon will hang soft overhead

then thankful I’ll be for my pillow and bed.

-Brooke Bessesen, November 2009

Let’s join forces and clean up aquatic habitats! Ocean Conservancy will hold their 24th annual Coastal Clean Up on September 19th, 2009. That’s a Saturday. And there are scheduled sites around the globe, including inland lakes and rivers, so even if you don’t live near the ocean, you can still do your part. The event is only a month away, so sign up with your family and friends at: http://www.signuptocleanup.org.

Last year 400,000 participants coordinated efforts in 100 countries to remove nearly 7 million pounds of trash—yes, 7 MILLION POUNDS of TRASH!

                     Mottled domes of shell wing slow and steady as time across vibrant reefs of coral.

                                Sea turtles of sweet mystery.

                     Wiggly bodies, all eye and color in soft pallets and neon flare nibble tender feathers of algae.

                                               Fish of our lifeblood.

                     Blue behemoths, a hundred feet of glorious blubber, heart and baleen gape krill in the crystalline space.

                                     Whales of living legend.

                     Divers, black neoprene and plexiglass, capture whisps of plastic, slick as jellies, and take them away.

                                                         Hero of all.

Kevin and I are planning to work at Lake Pleasant in Phoenix, Arizona to support the underwater cleanup there (see, there are even clean-up sites in the desert). We hope there will be lots of people diving with us and tidying the shore. Wherever you live, whatever river, lake or ocean you love best, whichever aquatic animals speak to your heart, please join this important effort.

       Alone, we can make a difference.  Together we can save the sea.

p4xhykgd2s

  Several years ago I had the honor of signing at a renowned bookstore in Denver, Colorado cleverly named Tattered Cover Book Store. I bought a t-shirt that day to commemorate the special event and, woven of soft blue cotton, it quickly became one of my favorites. Through the years I wore that shirt as I wore the covers of my treasured books, reading late into the night. Now the t-shirt itself is a “tattered cover”.

I have oft remarked of this coincidence—the shirt existing exactly as its logo implies...

                                                     My Tattered Cover

                                                         My tattered cover wraps silken pages

                                                         Weathered by memories of fingertip nights

                                                         And legs curled in sun drenched chairs

                                                         Words playing leap frog in affable rows

                                                         Folding—origami of time and tale

                                                         Bound and binding

                                                              Cadence remembered like a song

                                                         My tattered cover drapes tender heart

                                                         In yesterday’s fabric still loved

                                                         Soft as puffs of dandelion poised

                                                         Found dancing against familiar curve

                                                         Folding—communion of cloth and body

                                                         Worn and wearing

                                                               Each warmed by the other

                                                         Landmark where the two assemble

                                                         Silken pages and tender heart

                                                         Ample shelves surrender dreams unending

                                                         And far-flung journeys real or imagined

                                                         Holding—bounty of magic and paper

                                                         My Tattered Cover

                                                               Rugged brick shouldering the wind

                                                                  – Brooke Bessesen, July 2009

I wrote like crazy while I was living at the OBC in Costa Rica! I couldn't help myself; I was so dang inspired! Below are two unrelated literary chunks—ramblings, really—that made it from brain to paper during my time there. 

                                            a page in my yellow notebook

I share them because they offer insight into my thoughts and surroundings of the time. But they also exemplify the kind of free-flow writing that allows ideas to rush onto a page unhindered by serious worry for grammar, punctuation or paragraphing (which can always be fixed later).

#1:

I cannot stop writing, words gush from me like flash floods, forcing me to dash for paper and pen and hold to them as life rafts until the urgent waves of inspiration have passed. Last night, I woke abruptly at 1:00am, writhing with ideas, only to find my pen conspiratorially out of ink. Unable to sleep without exorcising the words from my head, I had to crawl from the nighttime safety of my mosquito net, quickly apply a layer of bug protection and scurry the full length of the compound to the kitchen for a writing utensil. There, I nudged around in the dark like a large nocturnal rodent, tiptoed like a cartoon burglar looking for diamonds. Minutes later, pencil secured in fist, I hot-footed back to bed and scribbled by headlamp for almost an hour, pages of my small yellow notebook turning black with lead—a frenzy that left me exhausted. Utterly drained, I then slept without moving until a crest of morning sunlight came to jiggle my shoulder.

#2:

The power and force of the sea is supreme. Even from here, with a great wall of trees between, the ocean can be heard. The swish and roll, followed by a deep rumble: water tripping on sand and crashing head over heels onto the shore. The sound repeats… the push… the roar and tumble… the pulling back to regroup before trying again. I imagine the vast ocean found guilty of some unforgivable disturbance of prehistory—at which point the ancient tides were cast from the land. Now, in repentance, they endlessly beg, clawing their way back ashore. The bass tone of the water is distance and embedded in the more prominent notes of the night—insects and frogs playing treble in this nocturnal music—but when you focus your attention on the waves, listen with head and with heart, the other noises drop away in insignificance. Soon, the deep call of ocean is the only sound you can hear, as if all other tones have been sucked into an auditory black hole. It bellows low and deep, the echo of all life past, present and future… calling us home.

NOTE: Beginning in March, I will be blogging every 2nd & 4th Friday of the month... see you March 13th!