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Gaian Rants | ||||||||||||
Beans My father shelled these beans, Deep red with fine white stripes, The same his father shelled. They planted, hoed and picked And saved the seed each year, Enough to plant next spring, Whatever left to eat With pork baked in a pot For supper Saturdays And Sunday morning meals.
Now I am shelling beans My father gave to me. I'm proud to grow them pure And save the seed each year.
Three generations shelled And saved the seed each year, And it might well be more For no one seems to know What generation first had planted, raised these beans.
Three generations but The beans so many more.
Walter Staples is a writer, poet, and avid fisher who was rasied on a farm in Maine. | ||||||||||||
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Mushroom photo: Colin Lowry | ||||||||||||
When we are really awake to the life of our senses -- when we are really watching with our animal eyes and listening with our animal ears -- we discover that nothing in the world around us is directly experienced as a passive or inanimate object. Each thing, each entity meets our gaze with its own secrets and, if we lend it our attention, we are drawn into a dynamic interaction wherein we are taught and sometimes transformed by this other being. - David Abram, "Trust Your Senses" | ||||||||||||
Soil for legs Axe for hands Bird for ears Mushroom for nose Smile for mouth Songs for lungs Sweat for skin Wind for mind Just enough.
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