I’ve loved this poem from the very first read some three decades and countless connections ago:
The Silken Tent
By Robert Frost
She is as in a field a silken tent
At midday when the sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strictly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To every thing on earth the compass round,
And only by one's going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightest bondage made aware.
I think about connections often. Not in any epistemological sorta way, no sirree...it’s always passion over pedantry for this pilgrim.
I think about the human connections that keep us tethered, grounded, rooted to the earth. Without them we’d surely be mere dander in the breeze. Our connections keep us sane and standing upright when we’ve lost our compass, our strength, our very will.
I think about connections and how they may begin with such amazing raw potential that one would swear the cables will come to be the stuff of braided steel. It’s a shock to find the ties were mere (or mebbe mutual) illusion/delusion...or expressions of hope beyond hope...
or...or...inexplicably keyed to bedrock of smoke.
The connections that mean the most are the true and time-tested bonds. The connections that we so desperately rely upon are those that have been tried and proven countless times, battered by both tempers and tempests, yet found ever resilient (though often frayed).
* * *
Things that kinda rattle in my brain:
"I was gonna send you a thank you card, but I remembered I forgot to buy stamps"