First Impressions

It is 5:30 am and I am resting from "romping with joy in the bookish dark." "I have been eating poetry." What a great line! Here's my snapping fingers to you Mark Strand. Well, if I had to describe the first hints of The Land, as if looking through binoculars, I would say its mountains are not to be rivaled. They form a crescent wall along the southern border and extend on either side far beyond my sight. But these mountains are not ominous or tipped with ice. Perhaps in the north. I suspect they were put there as great watchers, discerners of light and dark, protectors of the lowlands across the border. I am still a ways away from reaching their soft, green feet. But I like to watch them in return, wondering if there are eyes staring back from the hidden peaks.

There is a woman with me, younger than I, and with child. She possesses a wildness that even challenges the names history can provide. A wildness that transcends imagination and boldness of speech to become action and a slap in the face of tradition. I would like to consider myself daring, a risk taker, but in comparison to this young girl, my feats are still within acceptable parameters. The name of her unborn child means peace. I cannot help but ponder the implications of that name. He is due to come soon, and has been prepared by his mother's care for arrival into this world. Growing, waiting until maturity would insure that he could continue to live and breathe. If I meet a river at the foot of those mountains, I will call it Peace. It is a warrior's hidden armor, like Frodo's mithril. Sound, resilient, and able to steady an anxious heart. There when the enemy's clever jibe bypasses your parry; able to withstand multiple attacks all at once. I am glad the woman and her child are with me on my journey. For now, I'll tuck away the binoculars and rest awhile.