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Lost and Found

in Tryon Creek Park: Brent Wojahn/The Oregonian

In our professional development work we are often talking about the importance of being prepared to 'get lost'; ready for the unexpected, the new view, puzzle, and encounter.

A Sightlines' Community member has sent us this poem, following a discussion about the value of getting off the path, immersed in the experience of deep woods (we were investigating a possible woodland to use for a Learning in Nature course next year.) 

A most wonderful reminder, I thought: here's to us all taking those steps: adults and children, adventuring.

I hope you enjoy it too:

in Tryon Creek Park: Brent Wojahn/The Oregonian

In our professional development work we are often talking about the importance of being prepared to 'get lost'; ready for the unexpected, the new view, puzzle, and encounter.

A Sightlines' Community member has sent us this poem, following a discussion about the value of getting off the path, immersed in the experience of deep woods (we were investigating a possible woodland to use for a Learning in Nature course next year.) 

A most wonderful reminder, I thought: here's to us all taking those steps: adults and children, adventuring.

I hope you enjoy it too:

Tryon Creek Autumn: Randall David Tipton

The Day Millicent Found the World

Every morning Millicent ventured farther

into the woods. At first she stayed

near light, the edge where bushes grew, where

her way back appeared in glimpses among

dark trunks behind her. Then by farther paths

or openings where giant pines had fallen

she explored ever deeper into

the interior, till one day she stood under a great

dome among columns, the heart of the forest, and knew:

Lost. She had achieved a mysterious world

where any direction would yield only surprise.

And now not only the giant trees were strange

but the ground at her feet had a velvet nearness;

intricate lines on bark wove messages all

around her. Long strokes of golden sunlight

shifted over her feet and hands. She felt

caught up and breathing in a great powerful embrace.

A birdcall wandered forth at leisurely intervals

from an opening on her right: "Come away, Come away."

Never before had she let herself realize

that she was part of the world and that it would follow

Wherever she went. She was part of its breath.

Aunt Dolbee called her back that time, a high

voice tapering faintly among the farthest trees,

Milli-cent! Milli-cent! And that time she returned,

but slowly, her dress fluttering along pressing

back branches, her feet stirring up the dark smell

of moss, and her face floating forward, a stranger's

face now, with a new depth in it, into the light.

William Stafford

William Stafford reflected in an interview:  "When I began to write [this poem] I didn't know anything, not even the name Millicent. I guess the syllables of that name made me feel I as talking about an old-fashioned kind of girl. I just began to write without knowing what was coming. There's no Millicent in my life; there was just this kind of person who went farther and farther into the surroundings, a person who found her way from the structured life that she had been living, into the realization that there is a wilderness, that life is richer and greater than those formulas, formulations, dictionaries, encyclopaedias, and advanced degrees, that there is something swirling, and generous and maybe dangerous – but maybe not."


Rocking the boat ...
Educator Wanted: Madeley Nursery School, Telford

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Tuesday, 19 November 2019

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