Alexandersmap

    Tag: A. E. Housman

    • Where We Are, Where We Are Going

      Into my heart an air that kills
      From yon far country blows:
      What are those blue remembered hills,
      What spires, what farms are those?

      That is the land of lost content,
      I see it shining plain,
      The happy highways where I went
      And cannot come again
      — A. E. Housman      , A Shropshire Lad, XL

      We all get a little sentimental at times, remembering our days gone by. Youthful vigor and adventures, friends and family long gone but not forgotten, and a sense of place forever locked in the amber of that particular moment. We shall never pass that way again, yet we revisit it often in our memories. And so it must be.

      I believe most of the troubles we have in the world today are related to people wanting to return to some notion of what life used to be like back in the good old days. Instead of making the most of now, instead of working towards a dream of a better tomorrow, people dwell on who they once were. Like a time machine taking us back to see the best in us, and to fix the things that didn’t go our way.

      I remember who I once was—nice enough guy but he didn’t know a damned thing about life yet. He didn’t realize the opportunities he was missing out on. And maybe that’s what people believe they can fix by living in the past. All of it brought us here, to who we are, to where we are. The good, bad and the ugly all contributed to this: our identity. Magnify that by billions of restless souls and we arrive at this particularly baffling time in our collective history.

      Where we went matters a great deal as it brought us here. Wake up and look around, for this is where we are! This is our time, not back then. And time is flying rapidly by, waiting for us to step into living again instead of looking back at who we once were. Be bold today! Where are we going? Work to realize the opportunities we’d miss out on now if we don’t leap. Create the moments that will be fond memories themselves one day. If we aren’t so busy living the dream of tomorrow when we get there.

    • April Underfoot

      Star and coronal and bell
      April underfoot renews,
      And the hope of man as well
      Flowers among the morning dews.
      — A. E. Housman, Spring Morning

      Spring in the air, with a twist of biting cold thrust like a knife into the gut to keep you on your toes. That’s April in New England—best to appreciate the brief moments of wonder before the weather changes yet again. Daffodils are one of my favorite flowers precisely because they take it on the chin over and over again and still rise to the occasion. Who are we to complain?

      I’m not in a hurry to awaken the garden this year, feeling busy and distracted, but it doesn’t much matter whether I feel like awakening the garden or not, for the garden awakens. You either snap out of it and get ahead of things or you suffer through the ramifications of a rough start. There are beds to rake out, fallen branches to clear, fences to stand up, and soon sowing with more hope than a casual gardener has a right to. You’re either all in as a gardener or you concede it to the wild.

      I suppose I’m not quite ready for that. Like the daffodils we must rise and do what must be done. Our season is so brief and well underway. And there’s still hope for the harvest.