Multitudes

Almost forgot about it this year: I broke my neck twenty-one years ago today. I hadn't thought about it until my dad mentioned it; for him, I think, the date is holographic. He could never not remember it. For me, though, there isn't especially any added significance, no call to introspection. Though last year, the twentieth anniversary, I guess you'd say, did have a certain weight that snuck up on me. I wrote a long post describing the accident that I didn't expect to write.

So, rather than more of that, let's remember this randy old fellow on the day of his birth:

I depart as air--I shake my white locks at the runaway sun;
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeathe myself to the dirt, to grow from the grass I love;
If you want me again, look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am, or what I mean;
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged;
Missing me one place, search another;
I stop somewhere, waiting for you.