by David Whyte 

The road in the end taking the path the sun had taken,
into the western sea, and the moon rising behind you
as you stood where ground turned to ocean: no way
to your future now but the way your shadow could take,
walking before you across water, going where shadows go,
no way to make sense of a world that wouldn’t let you pass
except to call an end to the way you had come,
to take out each frayed letter you brought
and light their illumined corners, and to read
them as they drifted through the western light;
to empty your bags; to sort this and to leave that;
to promise what you needed to promise all along,
and to abandon the shoes that had brought you here
right at the water’s edge, not because you had given up
but because now, you would find a different way to tread,
and because, through it all, part of you could still walk on,
no matter how, over the waves.

from David Whyte’s collection, Pilgrim
©2012 Many Rivers Press
Posted [by ] with kind permission from the poet

I have long loved this poem, which fortuitously appeared in my inbox this morning. But apparently Cris & I have not yet reached that edge:

we are still packing…..

4 thoughts on “Packing

  1. Winnowing down, sorting this and that, what to take, what to donate… may it all go smoothly for you as you ready yourself for your new home.


    • We’re just moving across town, but it’s a big change. We’re moving into a cookie-cutter cottage at a continuing care retirement community & leaving a true and lively neighborhood with lots of oaks that are 100-200 years old & lots of unmanicured green space and we’re leaving a quirky old house we’ve fixed up & a pollinators’ garden we been working on. Oh well… It’s a new adventure & I’ll try to stir up some new mischief! 🙂


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