The Tell

Tonight, looking down on the city’s countless street and house lights below, it’s quiet. I’ve just come in from smoking a good tobacco—Losantville from Cincinnati’s Straus Tabacconist, which has a searing and memorable flavor, if a little dry with time. There are stars too, not like Michigan’s, of course, but enough to take your breath away if you look up long enough. It’s getting colder and quieter.

My friend and Trinity professor Bill Moulder has spent the week with us, and tonight is in the north, in Tikal, at the Jungle Lodge, and maybe even now is scaling the ruins under the same stars. I am hoping what Mayan gods remain will be good to him there. His kindness, which covers him like the scent of freshly cut flowers, or like light, should get him back safely I think.

Leaving behind family and friends, and what snow Cincinnati had for us, was bittersweet. Still, I was surprised at how happy I was to return to this city, this world so alive and filthy with life.

"The Tell":

I want to tell my friends how beautiful
the world is. Not but what they know
it is terrible too—they know as well as I;
but nevertheless, I want to tell my friends.
Because they are. And this is what they are;
and because it is and this is what it is.
You are my friend. The world is beautiful.
Dear friend, you are. I want to tell you so.

(William Bronk, Life Supports)

I have made no resolutions this year save to memorize this poem.