Postcard #2, Dingle, Dingle, Dangle

"Dingle dingle dangle, the moss its grasp entangles. Dingle dingle dangle, its age our life and spangle."

Click here to visit the main, TABLE OF CONTENTS page for this book, Postcards of the Night Sky sent to Shepherds.

Dingle, Dingle, Dangle

Dingle dingle dangle, the moss its grasp entangles. Dingle dingle dangle, its age our life and spangle. The lapping shores were our lapis, the wind-swept sea our limit. Dingle dingle dangle, the rhythm its woodlands solicit.

But conquering our limit we conquered our place and the ground and her dells followed. Hunters became husbandmen, friends became foresters, and her great womb separated into the living and the unliving: the dirt and the soil, the raucous rot of sapwood and the milling man’s prize of heartwood. The singular river that is also the singularity of life transformed into this and that and oxbows and their meanders followed. We and our separate movements harshened her processes into profits and reduced her deep dells into shallow stands and forests of flowers became woodlots primed and planted for churning like butter that which was not ours to begin with but us in the beginning and the dusk and the dawn followed.