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Personal Note:
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Poem
I am sitting in this cabin,
’twas built so long ago
up here in the wild mountains,
has a big bay window,
a vast and sprawling forestscape
greets my wandering eyes,
then comes that familiar urge
to get up, go outside.
Go traipse that hill off to the left,
I bet the view is good,
scope that meadow off to the east,
where deer come from the wood,
to climb down in the roaring gorge,
and see what I can find,
the world’s an endless treasure trove,
and no man has much time.
One cold rove for a whole lifetime,
and I do love to wend,
yet for all that I find myself
coming back here again.

I come across this sensation,
sometimes it feels quite odd,
why huddle here when I could see
the sublime work of God?
Tall mountains carved out of marble,
rivers that bend and shape,
great creatures that are unchanged since
before the human race,
shimmering, thunder waterfalls
hammer holes in the earth,
volcanos full of liquid land
always ready to burst,
and ruins of the great men past,
carved right into the stone,
building up the finest structures
that man has even known.
I know that all that is out there,
and I want to see them,
but somehow I still really want
to sit right here again.

Perhaps I am getting older
and life is getting dull,
perhaps my reason says, “Why Try?
You can’t see it in full.”
Maybe the scale is much too much
for any human mind,
maybe this space shrinks it all down
to something well defined,
to something that my mind can grasp,
that my will can control,
is the vastness how God tell us,
“Stay humble, know your role?”
Could it all just be potential
when I sit here and stare,
the allure of the mystery,
of what could be out there?
Is it a page from Schrodinger
when I look out and see,
is what might be more magical
than the reality?
Or is it quite the opposite,
do I like the surprise
of how what’s real works more deeply
than any thought inside?
Sure, I’ll go and explore the world,
like all us restless men,
but for all that, I know that I’ll
come right back here again.
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