Of all people, my doctor asked me once: Where do you belong? When you split your time between places, it can sometimes feel as though you’re never fully present anywhere.
In a few days, I will make my way back to the Arizona desert. I call this My Great Migration. So a sense of place weighs heavy on me.
Then —coincidentally?– Billy Collins’ poem found its way to me. I love it when the universe makes house calls.
A SENSE OF PLACE
by Billy Collins
If things had happened differently,
Maine or upper Michigan
might have given me a sense of space–
a topic that now consumes 87%
of all commentary on American literature.
I might have run naked by a bayou
or been beaten near a shrouded cove on a coastline.
Arizona could have raised me.
As the master of all things ordinary, Collins’ words reminded me to immerse myself in the-right-here-right-now-ordinary-details of my beloved mountainscape.
So I will spend this weekend making my list of “noticings.” Here’s how it begins:
clatter of gold coins on the Aspen
the snap of a branch – was that a bear?
the thunks are getting lighter – is the squirrel’s work ending, too?
a path peopled with pinecones,
did they tumble from their mama’s arms?
exhausted needles, grateful for the softness of the forest floor
This week, visit Tabatha at The Opposite of Indifference . Her blog is filled with poetry, art, music, and this week, the rest of our PoetryFriday posts!
Patricia Franz writes picture books and poetry. She believes children, dogs, and sourdough have a lot to teach us about life, joy, and wonder. She has raised two boys, four dogs, and holds a master’s degree in Theology with a focus on children’s spirituality. Patricia, her husband, her Bernese Mountain dog, Bonny, and her sourdough starter split their time between the Arizona desert and the Sierra Nevada mountains. 
Oh, WOW, your noticings are beautiful. Happy weekend as you journey from your lakes and woods to the desert.
Thanks! Gonna miss this place (again).
A great migration!! A very adventurous thing to do. Thanks for the Collins fix, and like Tanita, I love your noticings. 🙂
Yes, it’s a week of Billy Collins mornings for me. Thanks, Jama.
I love how you use questions, Patricia. And thanks for the Collins poem. He has a way of getting it just right, doesn’t he? Safe travels!
More questions than answers! Thanks, Rose.
I love the line “a path peopled with pinecones,” … what glorious alliteration painting your picture! Thank you for sharing!
That’s literally how I saw them yesterday…little people straying from mama trees. Thanks, Sarah.
“love it when the universe makes house calls…” Yes! Beautiful noticings. I hope your great migration allows for lots more poetic renderings of them.
Thanks, Linda. I suppose it’s always about staying tuned in to what’s out there, right?
I always get a little sad knowing the “ Great Migration” back to Arizona is going to happen… selfishly it just means you are farther away❤️
never far away 🙂
I love your list of noticings. I particularly love the alliteration of “a path peopled with pinecones.”
I’d forgotten about this Collins poem, so thank you for the reminder.
You’re welcome, Tricia. Billy Collins’ words delight me.
Billy Collins’ poem was so interesting — I love that he says he is a native son of a chair. What freedom, to find your sense of place in anything you want. Collins describing himself with “his back to it all” as if he is oblivious is funny. We know he notices everything!
Thanks for sharing it all with us. Good luck with your transition!
I love Collins’ sense of anchoring in the here-and-now and immersing ourselves in all most ordinary details.
I love your noticings, Patricia. Happy migrating!
Thank you for stopping by, Laura.
Thanks for some Billy Collins to start my morning! I didn’t know this one, but now it’s another of my favorites. I think your quote “…when the universe makes house calls” might wind up as a striking line in a poem this week! THANKS!
synchronicity?
Your noticings–combined with your wonderings–are lovely and pointed. May you not turn your back on them, those little couriers with someplace to go.
Yes, I imagine myself taking leave in a backwards walk.
This time of year, of course you know, is the time for travel for many. Because of the terrible weather events this past week, I am now wondering how those who have lost everything will achieve their “sense of place”. Billy Collins, is ever thoughtful, right? But, I love your own noticings, Patricia, the “exhausted needles, grateful for the softness of the forest floor”. Wishing you safe travels.
My heart aches for those lost to a place. I’m reminded of David Wagoner’s LOST.
What lovely noticings, Patricia. They evoke such strong images. I was especially struck by the last one:
exhausted needles, grateful for the softness of the forest floor
See you in class this week!
Those needles were noticings by my own feet, which truly were/are grateful for that soft floor!
Patricia, with my husband home from hip replacement time and place are a blur to me. That is why I am still reading posts from Friday. I do like the word choices in your poem, like a path peopled with pinecones. The alliteration rolls off the tongue and leads the reader to the end of your noticing. Thanks for giving us insight into your beautiful mountainside.
Hope the hip heals well, Carol. Thank you for even thinking about stopping by.
Your noticings are noticeably lovely, Patricia. Billy Collins always inspires something, doesn’t he?
I can relate to your reaching for/wondering about your own sense of place. I’ve never really felt that I’m “from” a particular place, though many places have shaped me. The Air Force moved us around a lot when I was a kid so I’ve been to both coasts and in between and even though I’ve lived in Nebraska for 50 years, I still don’t feel like I’m *from* here. I am in it, but not of it! 🙂 Sometimes, though, just having that upholstered chair near a window (and the right people around me) is enough to call a place home.
Karen, you are sooo right about those people and small things that make us feel anchored! Thank you!
I often ask myself the same question, Patricia. Place or a sense of place and belonging is very important. I actually taught place-based learning in my after-school garden club. Belonging, for me, has always been hard. I went from a career in nursing to a stay-at-home mom and volunteer, to a student at 55 getting a second master’s degree, and to an environmental educator. I always seem to feel like I”m on the fringe of belonging. Hmmm, maybe I need to work on writing about this. Thanks for the idea. Good luck with your migration.
You have me intrigued by “place-based learning” — I imagine, with a garden club, it must involve plunging hands deep into dirt and letting the soil teach us something? Thank you!