Three years ago, I moved from the Boston area to Seattle.
And I live near Lake Washington, and from one
of my upstairs windows, I can see a bit of Mount Rainier.
From just up the street, when the mountain is out,
I get a wonderful view of it.
And from the park at the bottom of the street,
I get wonderful views of Mount Rainier also.
And so I've written a lot of poems about the place
where I now live, and I'm going to read a couple of them,
a few of them.
This one is called "Settling," and is actually, probably,
the first poem that I wrote in Seattle, about--
I don't know if the first poem I wrote in Seattle,
but it was the first poem I wrote as a direct result
of having moved there.
"I was welcomed here, clear gold of late summer,
of opening autumn, the dawn eagle sunning himself
on the highest tree.
The mountain revealing herself unclouded,
her snow tinted apricot as she looked west,
tolerant in her steadfastness of the restless sun,
forever rising and setting.
Now I am given a taste of the gray foretold by all
and sundry, a gray both heavy and chill.
I boasted I would not care, I'm London-born, and I won't.
I'll dig in, into my days, having come here to live,
not to visit.
Gray is the price of neighbouring
with eagles, of knowing a mountain's vast presence, seen
or unseen."