The Morning Mists Fade and the Path is Made Clear

I had a nice dinner last evening with Daniel S. McTaggart's family, to thank me for my part in his book MIDNIGHT MUSE IN A CONVENIENCE STORE, which will be coming to bookstores and onlne retailers in the next few weeks. I had a good time, ate too much, and was able to flirt with a lovely server (I am still more comfortable with the terms "waitress" and "waiter"..."server" just seems like one of those PC awkwardisms...) who was working her first table. I informed Tag that she was too young for me, but I would be happy to recommend him to her.

He gave that long-sufering grimace that passes for a smile when he is underwhelmed at my generosity.

I then received a call from a friend I have been circumspectly courting (if you've ever seen me trying to navigate the waters of making my interest known to a woman, it is a truly pathetic, but courtly, thing. I have been both burned and scorched, smacked down and torched, by those whom either I misread or whom made sport of my intentions, that I tread softly, like a blind man in a bramble patch, never fully trusting any sensory information. (The legend persists, and is true, of a female friend who grew weary of my slow pace and one day asked for my hand, took it and placed it under her blouse, on her breast, and said "Is that obvious enough for you?" Well, yes, it was. And it was and is a perfectly lovely breast, I think I wrote several sonnets about it. Later. I was...to quote Ani DiFranco..."distracted" for a while. One must do in depth research to write good romantic and erotic poetry. Sigh.)

Got a "Dear John" email last night from a dear friend I have known for years and who had expressed, for some time, a desire to take the relationship to a more plutonic level. As she is a continent away, and married, I am satisfied with her withdrawal and her purpose, and even praised her integrity and candor. Yes, some aspects of me are disappointed, but not in her. Few people have ever disappointed me. Having been through some of the things I have been through with friends and lovers, I have learned to not judge people for my expectations, assumptions and perceptions. It was a hard-learned lesson, but essential to my survival in a world that is full of smug liars and rationalizers. That list includes me, alas, on occasion.

So, now, to quote the title of one of my favourite poems, "The Morning Mists Fade and the Path is Made Clear"...


draw tight the cloak of night and wear the moon, eternal,
as an halo, sainthood now sent as a refusal
to take illumination as the word unspoken.
gospel revelation of the cool curve unbroken
by the penetration of shame into the sphere where
all things taken as chance become the untamed night's mare.
ridden to the edge of a world promised to lovers,
sworn as reward for quests mastered within the layers
laid down so that buried pride may yet rise, triumphant,
and lay the road to the city, perfect and ancient.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.
from the book FROM AN UNEXPECTED QUARTER
ISBN 0-595-00231-5

I love it when I read a piece of mine writ a few years ago resonates with a moment in my life now.