I am lost, and I am found here on this map. It is a place I will go to, in a year or so. Maybe you have been there, and know the way.
Sometimes I make maps of things and places I long for. Sometimes I map my dreams, both the waking and sleeping kind. This map is both: a place I am so happy to be going to, and some reminders of how I came to have the opportunity to go there.
Maps are about stories for me, as is poetry. This poem is by a Scottish writer, a person sharing my heritage and sharing my sentinments today.
“The Constant North,” J. F. Hendry
Encompass me, my lover,
With your eyes’ wide calm.
Though noonday shadows are assembling doom,
The sun remains when I remember them;
And death, if it should come,
Must fall like quiet snow from such clear skies.
Minutes we snatched from the unkind winds
Are grown into daffodils by the sea’s
Edge, mocking its green miseries;
Yet I seek you hourly still, over
A new Atlantis loneliness, blind
As a restless needle held by the constant north we always have in mind.