Losing the Automatic
The hour’s trip from
Petoskey State Park to
the Jordan River became automatic
with every house and bed of flowers
familiar welcoming signs
that the river was nearer still.
The drowsy rising in the dark;
slowly edging out of camp;
lights illuminating dark campers & tents;
La Senorita, the original;
on to 31 preternaturally
calm in the cool dawn; the elegant
Bay View climbing up the rolling ground
away from the lake; and always
on to Johan’s and “donuts”
the required bakery stop.
The hospital; the
horses; the mansions
on the shore; and then
left up into the hills
away from the money
and desperate frenzy of
tourist sand and
searches for Petoskey stones.
Finally it is automatic,
regular, familiar; a
part of one’s self
flying over and through
the low hills in fog
or rain or sun in
daylight or night
through Horton Bay,
past Hemingway’s store,
and into Boyne City.
Slowly passing resting
sail boats and ski thing do’s
rocking gently as Lake
Charlevoix slops against
endless fiberglass and
up into the rolling lushness
and down into East Jordan
over the vast delta
exiting into the South Arm.
At odds to see the end
before the beginning but it
is so with rivers and roads;
across the river and
the road runs south on 66
the river’s length
before turning east
up into the heights at
Penny Bridge.
Roger’s Bridge, Webster’s
Bridge, Public Access,
State Road, Graves Crossing,
the State Forest Campground;
Penny Bridge, and if
so inclined go on
up the sand road
to the headwaters of
the cold white stream;
the house of
brook, brown & rainbow.
Getting there became
automatic, axiomatic,
unquestioned; blind in its
ease as a pattern worn;
embedded in my
hands, feet, and eyes.
Now I have to think;
I have to crawl and
debate each turn; trying
to return to old maps once
worn in the limestone hills;
now vague and fogged
with mist folding over;
enveloping; encapsulating; overwhelming;
driven in off the lake
by the wind that sweeps over all
reaching rolling deep
into the land.
Mason, Michigan
May 1, 2010
Petoskey State Park to
the Jordan River became automatic
with every house and bed of flowers
familiar welcoming signs
that the river was nearer still.
The drowsy rising in the dark;
slowly edging out of camp;
lights illuminating dark campers & tents;
La Senorita, the original;
on to 31 preternaturally
calm in the cool dawn; the elegant
Bay View climbing up the rolling ground
away from the lake; and always
on to Johan’s and “donuts”
the required bakery stop.
The hospital; the
horses; the mansions
on the shore; and then
left up into the hills
away from the money
and desperate frenzy of
tourist sand and
searches for Petoskey stones.
Finally it is automatic,
regular, familiar; a
part of one’s self
flying over and through
the low hills in fog
or rain or sun in
daylight or night
through Horton Bay,
past Hemingway’s store,
and into Boyne City.
Slowly passing resting
sail boats and ski thing do’s
rocking gently as Lake
Charlevoix slops against
endless fiberglass and
up into the rolling lushness
and down into East Jordan
over the vast delta
exiting into the South Arm.
At odds to see the end
before the beginning but it
is so with rivers and roads;
across the river and
the road runs south on 66
the river’s length
before turning east
up into the heights at
Penny Bridge.
Roger’s Bridge, Webster’s
Bridge, Public Access,
State Road, Graves Crossing,
the State Forest Campground;
Penny Bridge, and if
so inclined go on
up the sand road
to the headwaters of
the cold white stream;
the house of
brook, brown & rainbow.
Getting there became
automatic, axiomatic,
unquestioned; blind in its
ease as a pattern worn;
embedded in my
hands, feet, and eyes.
Now I have to think;
I have to crawl and
debate each turn; trying
to return to old maps once
worn in the limestone hills;
now vague and fogged
with mist folding over;
enveloping; encapsulating; overwhelming;
driven in off the lake
by the wind that sweeps over all
reaching rolling deep
into the land.
Mason, Michigan
May 1, 2010