My wife and I pack our open canoe
after five nights of camping, head back
to Lund in a rising wind.
We dodge whirlpools, ferry across
currents, break out of eddies. Far ahead
through white caps and heavy swell,
is the rocky point
we must round.
Portage Gap is closer, offers an easy land haul
to a quiet inner bay.
We’ve heard the owner of this old homestead
is testy, cusses canoeists and kayakers.
We pull ashore, I walk to his cottage, knock.
Through a window I see
an empty bottle of Jim Beam
lying on a table.
A bleary figure stalks
from the back room, cracks the door.
He silently listens to my request,
nods his head with effort:
Quietly, quietly.
Desolation Sound, British Columbia, 1978
(No. 48 in a series of responses to Han-shan’s Songs of Cold Mountain)
Sometimes the context in which you must ask, “What way from here?” moves fast, may sometimes entail choosing among competing dangers or unknowns. You just act. And there is life, right in that moment. When everyday time resumes, that moment may be followed by a big smile, the shakes, or just a heartfelt, “Thanks!”
(Numeric reference to Han-shan’s poem reflects the order of presentation in Burton Watson’s translation, presented as Cold Mountain, Columbia University Press, 1970.)
