I have a three-week break and will head home for a couple of weeks on Monday, so will be offline for a couple of days. It is a longer sabbath than normal, but it will be a long day on Monday. The wanderer is going from thought country and will find his way home as William Stafford suggested in this poem. We are each shepherded home in some fashion, at some time.
According to the silence, winter has arrived—
a special kind of winter. I, its inventor,
watch it freeze in calendars and stare
out of clocks. I do not feel its cold.
Across a certain farm evening crows go flying,
intervals of the sky that I have seen before,
the bearing of a river. I advance, a wanderer
out of thought country, that serious quiet place,
Till according to the silence all the light is gone
and according to the dark all wanderers are home.