We go over to the cabin at Rocky Fork for overnights, never more than one night at a time. We go home the next morning, apparently valuing the day at home more than a day at the cabin, or even a day at the cabin plus another night there. Yeah, the cabin is an overnight dinner party.

Put the beers in the creek to cool, light the wood fire in the sauna, and lay out the cheese, paté, and crackers. A few beers with the sauna, a few with the hors d’oerves, a few with dinner –which is almost always grilled steak – and a few more to get really sleepy before crawling into the sleeping bag.

The kids are in their late teens now and bring friends; they stay up later then us and drink a few more and talk loud beer-talk. They aren’t carded here, they’re not driving anyplace; they really need to drink beers and talk loudly. I listen; they’re OK, I’m OK.

Help me
find the paradox I look for:
the profoundest order is revealed
in what is most casual, these
humped and cat-
ty cornered cubes, the wind,
so you’re planning to be sad
or casual
as a hat
off a yacht,
afloat
in a cove. James Schuyler

George's selection of 66 Phlogs is available in print from People's Press.

Posted in phlog | No Comments