I can't help but think about my old friend Ann Hanson who lived every day with that sense of being shaped by the landscape and shaping the landscape she inhabited. And though this poem presents a fictional character it speaks to Ann's idea of place.
My quick poem of the day. It is a little sentimental and not what I consider a good poem but here it is:
She traveled the mountains, two oceans,
she scaled rock and swam in heavy waves;
now her days are spent in a smaller space.
Her young companion wanted to be of value;
and asked "would she like to travel again?"
O no, she said, if you know place intimately,
there is no need to go beyond; everything lies
within your province, but only if
you've lived it. There are snow-filled clouds above
the buildings, ancient rocks beneath, there are
whispering creature around each corner as watchful
as the owl in the old growth trees. Touch this,
she said, as she touched a potted fern on the table,
it feels as dewy as the one I touched
one afternoon in the rain forest of San Juan.