So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It’s when I’m weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig’s having lashed across it open.
I’d like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love:
I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.
I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.
I think Steve was a swinger of birches..
Steve was one of the most genuine, caring, kind hearted, person any of us had ever had the fortune to know. Always there to help, never a negative thought, word, action.. He was truly, truly happy in his heart.
His peace in this world was almost childlike. Maybe he knew some truth the rest of us are still waiting to grasp?
He will be missed dearly by many.
Life is short.