To Maine

To Maine:

A land to which a name has said it all

belying truth as it lies at our feet

and loyal like the hound or baying dog

we strive to act and honor with our feats

As brothers bound by slowly passing time

which leaves so little trace upon this place

and seeking something lost so long ago

escape one moment the endless human race

Water runs forever in decline

yet hope springs eternal in our cheers

life stops its rushing for a while

as jokes and laughs scare off the native deer

Tomorrow we will rest upon the grass

and throw the sacred die into the air

but never will we lay our beers to rest

nor stop the games for rabbits nor a bear.

Worry free and whimsy is the way

the MAINEly brews will surely find their end

when exiting our corpus in a stream

ne'er to be forgot just like a dream...

Camp Relief 2011

Andrew Hicks

Back to Earth

As the plane circled high above Boston's Logan International, the universe was modeled by a vast expanse of clouds. This grey scaled whirling world, full of smooth undulating valleys and the sharp towers of billowing thunderheads which rose, silhouetted against an endless, depthless field of infinite white revealing inside an emptiness from which flicker hints of another universe, much like our own, wherin lives the sun.

Winding around and down into the evolving physics of that vaporous realm, all traces of the sun were spun away and the once glimmering rivulets of rain turned to shade and blocked all meaningful perception of space. Time too was swayed by the ever tightening spirals of the descending plane.

The Boston he returned to was a colder, damper vision of the humidity drenched city from the sticky days of summer. This was his home away from home while away from home. Home resembling now more of a state of mind, a comfortable envelope of relaxation, a healthy active respite from the endlessly revolving carousel that was "routine." Home was the place where spinning ceased and the sun appeared and was appreciated, where the phases of the moon were more than passing glimpses of a far off sphere and seasons were allowed to flourish in all their wild variety.

Light exists at home - and love. Humanity with all its joy and suffering is born at home.

Through the wisps of condensing molecules and in the roar of the jet engines, the suddenly appearing runway lights, through washed out streets, under awnings and umbrellas, it was home he sought more than anything else.