thunder beings they were called

thunderstorm
 

Thunder

before dawn,

thunder through dawn, 

thunder beings they were called.

It had to be a person or animal up there.

Outside, walking to my work shed the clouds

were low, almost black, and turbulent. You could

nearly jump up and touch them. I love thunder.

I could listen to it all day long. Like birdsong

it’s the music of the gods. How in childhood

adored these cloud voices that could

lift me up above my troubles, far

above the birds. I’d look down 

at their flying backs, always

in circles  because earth

is round. What a gift

to have my work

shed shudder

with thunder.

 

Jim Harrison

 

the treasure of the nation

PLAINS, GA - APRIL 20: Former President Jimmy Carter teaches Sunday school on Easter Sunday at Maranatha Baptist Church on April 20, 2014 in Plains, Georgia. (Photo by Chris McKay/Getty Images)

“we never fired a shot, but still achieved our goals”

 

The general

who advances without

coveting fame, who retreats without

being ashamed, whose concern is to keep the

people safe and honor the sovereign —

he will be the treasure of

the nation.

 

from The Art of War, Chapter VIII

 

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the king is dead, long live the king

AVT_Jim-Harrison_9952

 

On

waking

after the accident I

was presented with the

“whole picture” as they say,

magnificently detailed, a child’s

diorama of what life appears to be:

staring at the picture I became drowsy

with relief when I noticed a yellow dot of light

in the lower right-hand corner. I unhooked the machines

and tubes and crawled to the picture, which turned out to be a

miniature tunnel at the end of which I could see mountains and stars

whirling and tumbling, sheets of emotions, vertical rivers, upside down

lakes, herds of unknown mammals, birds shedding feathers and 

regrowing them instantly, snakes with feathered heads eating

their own shed skins, fish swimming straight up, the

bottom of Isaiah’s robe, live whales on dry ground,

lions drinking from a golden bowl of milk,

the rush of night, and somewhere in

this the murmur of gods —

a tree-rubbing-tree music,

a sweet howl of water and

rock-grating-rock, fire

hissing from fissures,

the moon settled

comfortably on

the ground,

beginning

to roll.

 

Jim Harrison

beloved mentor, friend, guide

December 11, 1937 – March 26, 2016

 

The Theory and Practice of Rivers,

Legends of the Fall, Dalva,

The Road Home,

more