Waning Gibbous Moon
“No one I think is in my tree
I mean it must be high or low
That is you can’t you know tune in but it’s all right
That is I think it’s not too bad.”
– The Beatles, Strawberry Fields Forever
Poetry. Sometimes it just is. It may or may not make sense to you. You may or may not care. It just is. And when it just is and it blends that right chord or strikes that sweet harmonic, it may or may not make you smile. And if you smile, the whole world may or may not smile with you. It’s okay either way. It’s just poetry.
I grew up with the Beatles. They are still just as much a part of me as my family and my religion. But I have to confess that I didn’t always know in a logical sense what John Lennon in particular was talking about. Like the above passage, though, his lyrics often struck that chord with me. That poetry chord. I trusted that place where his songs took me. Still do.
Today my feet took me to a place on US 50 called the Strawberry Lodge. It has its own poetry, possibly rooted in those glory days of the Beatles and Mr. Natural. I immediately felt at home so I decided to spend the night. That’s my upstairs window next to the wing on the funky totem pole.
I’m on the western side of the Sierra Nevada crest now. That means I have achieved my goal of crossing the Sierra before the first big snowstorms hit – kinda sorta a big deal for the transcontinental touring strollerist (sans stroller). The Coast Range remains, but it does not come with the same disaster potential as the Sierra Nevada. No one ever heard of thirty feet of snow on the Coast Ranges.
Up at Echo Summit this morning, I got to take a short walk on the Pacific Crest Trail before I began my downhill slalom toward Placerville and 49er country. That trail will always be my favorite. That’s where my poetry really sings, where the chord rings truest to the beat of my heart, in God’s playground, the plain stony truth.
I have driven past the Strawberry Lodge tens of times and never stopped. It took a three thousand mile walk from Delaware to bring me here. I like it. I don’t know why it calls to me. It just is.
Peace, Love, and Poetry,