Charlotte (CLB)'s LJ (berkeleyfarm) wrote,
Charlotte (CLB)'s LJ
berkeleyfarm

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Poem in October

I decided to go off to Grace this morning, to commemmorate the twentieth (!) anniversary of my moving to San Francisco. (Strictly speaking, it's Tuesday, but the original day was Sunday of Fleet Week.)

The unseasonably cold weather we have been having cleared as if by magic for Fleet Week and the drive in was magical. I found parking on Sutter near Leavenworth and walked up the hill.

I enjoyed singing hymns - miss it sometimes at my current 8-am-at-St.-Mark's habit - and admiring the beauty of the surroundings. I got one of the individual "stall" seats in the quire, with a needlepoint cushion of ocean/mountains/poppies/palms. I visited my favorite ikons and lit candles in the AIDS chapel (St. Mark's has no such objects of devotion). I still feel like a part of the Grace community but in the months since I had been there last (I think July 4 was it) I feel a strong shift towards St. Mark's, and the chance to do something in my community of residence. But I will always love Grace, and I can certainly go back there any time I feel like it.

(I was touched, and moved, by the exhibit of many landmarks on and after 9/11/01, and the role of St. Paul's Chapel, a place near to my heart even Before, as a way station - food, drink, foot care, chiropractic, music, someone to talk to, a place to sleep - for weary rescue workers. I <3 St. Paul's.)

I had big plans to walk around the block of Huntington Park and the PU Club, sort of a triumphal "Return of the Almost Native" tour, admiring the scenery on such a fine day, and even reciting bits of Dylan Thomas' birthday Poem in October to mark the occasion. (I had WRITTEN parts of the poem down. By hand.) But I had gone to the gift shop, and then out the California street door, without thinking, and was downtown before I realized it. I struggled with going back and completing the symbolic gesture, but decided against it. Re-parking would be a hassle, I wanted to get home, and in so many ways, I had accomplished it, just by being there. And I was constantly thinking of what to me is the poem's "punch line":

"O may my heart's truth /Still be sung/On this high hill in a year's turning."
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