Old Snowmass Neighbors

Bonfire Recap

The night was cold as friends and neighbors drew in around the bonfire light in Miles's honor in the Rager's backyard. Familiar faces were hidden behind homemade masks, and a smile would slip out as we took sips of cider and warm bean soup. The night air weighted it that evening. On our shoulders sat the realities of the year behind us, as well as the sorrow of saying goodbye to one of our own. 

Bentley started the evening by reading "Kneel Always When You Light A Fire". The poem was one of her favorites from summer camp growing up. Collective stories were shared about Miles from years past. Tales from Mommy's camp and trying out the zip line in the Brundige backyard topped the list. Kevin recited the poem "White owl flies into and out of a field" by Mary Oliver. As the night drew to a close, we looked up to the shimmering night sky to find the Christmas star. A symbol of hope for all this year found in a once in 800 years kind of astronomical phenomenon.

Miles joins so many who we have lost this year. In their honor, we took a moment to make wishes for the new year of pinecones before tossing them into the fire—a wish for ourselves and a wish for the world. May 2021 bring you peace. 

Kneel Always When You Light A Fire

by William Dunkerley

Kneel always when you light a fire!
Kneel reverently, and thankful be
For God's unfailing charity,
And on the ascending flame inspire.
A little prayer that shall upbear
The incense of your thankfulness
For this sweet grace
Of warmth and light!
For here again is a sacrifice.
For your delight.

Within the wood,
That lived a joyous life.
Through sunny days and rainy days
And winter storms and strife; --
Within the peat,
That drank the moorland sweet.
Of bracken, whin, and sweet bell-heather,
And all the joy of gold gorse feather.
Flaming like Love in wintriest weather, --
While snug below, in sun and snow,
Peat heard the beat of the padding feet.
Of foal and dam, and ewe and lamb,
And the stamp of old bell-wether; --
Within the coal,
Where forests lie entombed,
Oak, elm, and chestnut, beech, and red pine bole, --
God shrined His sunshine and enwombed
For you, these stores of light and heat,
Your life-joys to complete.
These all have died that you might live;
Yours now the high prerogative.
To loose their long captivities, --
To give them a new sweet span of life.
And fresh activities.

Kneel always when you light a fire!
Kneel reverently,
And grateful be  

White Owl

by Mary Oliver

Coming down out of the freezing sky
with its depths of light,
like an angel, or a Buddha with wings,
it was beautiful, and accurate,
striking the snow and whatever was there
with a force that left the imprint
of the tips of its wings — five feet apart —
and the grabbing thrust of its feet,
and the indentation of what had been running
through the white valleys of the snow —
and then it rose, gracefully,
and flew back to the frozen marshes
to lurk there, like a little lighthouse,
in the blue shadows —
so I thought:
maybe death isn't darkness, after all,
but so much light wrapping itself around us —

as soft as feathers —
that we are instantly weary of looking, and looking,
and shut our eyes, not without amazement,
and let ourselves be carried,
as through the translucence of mica,
to the river that is without the least dapple or shadow,
that is nothing but light — scalding, aortal light —
in which we are washed and washed
out of our bones.

Fern Hill

Dylan Thomas

Now, as I was young and easy under the apple boughs

About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green

The night above the dingle starry,

Time let me hail and climb

     Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honored among wagons I was a prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
          Trail with daisies and barley
     Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
     In the sun that is young once only,
          Time let me play and be
     Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
          And the sabbath rang slowly
     In the pebbles of the holy streams.

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
     And playing, lovely and watery
          And fire green as grass.
     And nightly under the simple stars.
As I rode to sleep, the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars.
     Flying with the ricks, and the horses
          Flashing into the dark.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white.
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
     Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
          The sky gathered again.
     And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light.
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm.
     Out of the whinnying green stable
          On to the fields of praise.

And honored among foxes and pheasants by the gay house.
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
     In the sun born over and over,
          I ran my heedless ways,
     My wishes raced through the house's high hay.
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning, so few and such morning songs
     Before the children, green and golden
          Follow him out of grace,

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me.
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
     In the moon that is always rising,
          Nor that riding to sleep
     I should hear him fly with the high fields.
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh, as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
          Time held me green and dying.
     Though I sang in my chains like the sea.