from MORNING DRIVE JOURNAL: DECEMBER 11, 1998

All the local emblems,

taken together, do they define the region? I have said nothing yet about music, art, literature - the arts generally. How does the question of the arts apply to the Fox and Wolf River areas? Do the arts intersect anyplace where these people live? Sometimes I think not. If not, why not?

Every day asks more questions than it answers. I guess I'm not ready to die yet.

What should a person be interested in? Why am I interested in these things? Actually, vaguely, I know why - for the same reason I get a lump in my throat at a certain kind of sunset - the silhouette of a farmstead against it, barn and silo and house, perhaps a grove of trees. The ache I get, seeing the long autumn light of late afternoon lay across a cornfield, some of the corn harvested, some of it not; the light the color of corn stalks; light the color of corn dust in the air. The air the color of light, of sky, of wind, of apples and leaves turning. That kind of lump in the throat. That kind of reason for being interested.

This morning there is a thin skin of ice on the pond. Rough and somewhat green. A blue sky overhead. A bit of haze along the horizon in front of the morning sun. It is a cold morning, below freezing. Some frost on the windshield, not much and not tight to the glass. Exhaust from the pick-up blows north as I clear the windshield. The morning light caresses the rough bark of trees down the hill. Be here. Be here fully, now. Say: "I love my life."

Lately I have started to notice the creases on my face. The beauty of age? All the way to Ripon this morning I focus on the wear marks on the faces of the on-coming drivers, what they have made of themselves, how they have sculpted themselves, how they have sculpted their faces. Some of the drivers are serious, as I am. Other drivers smile - at nothing I can see. That's good, I think, that's good.

Comments

[suzanne]

what keeps a human fully alive i.e. young,
as far as I can tell
is just that lump in the throat
over just these kinds of things, Tom

I love your paean to corn
in its many beautiful manifestations
and I'd add the scent in the air
of tasselled corn
and how it feels to hide
in a cornfield
(carefully carefully being bewary
of blades that cut)

and yes furrowed brows
have much of the beautiful about them
when they are etched
by Wonder

[Marja-Leena]

A wonderful expression of your joy of life in all its manifestations, Tom! That expression is your art.
And Suzanne's.

I wish everyone could have some form of artistic expression. I always wish I had that magic with words. But I speak in visual language and am grateful for that.

[Tom Montag]

Suzanne & Marja-Leena--Thanks for your good words. "Etched by wonder," yes. "Joy of life in all its manifestations," yes, yes. Yesterday was the last day of my class in creative nonfiction for Lakeland College; if I ever teach such a course again, I am going to spend A LOT MORE TIME on "learning how to see." You can't do any art - writing or whatever you try your hand at - until you've learned how to see. I'm still not convinced that my students actually believe they are walking past little miracles every day; they are, but some of them still don't know it. I suppose children are full of wonder, but somewhere they lose it and fall into step with the troops of blind efficiency.

[suzanne]

I've given Wonder
lots of thought

a wee piece of it here:

http://www.themodernword.com/columns/slightly_foxed_002.html