I was far away from home for the latter half of this month. I departed on floats on the sixteenth of October. Yesterday afternoon I landed the Husky on fat tires back here on the snowy little “airstrip” just up the hill from home, where we keep the planes during this shoulder season of freeze-up.

I set out tonight to try to say something original, insightful, amusing, inspiring. (As usual, I’d have happily settled for any two out of the four.) And then, hemming and hawing, not knowing where or how to begin, I came across this poem that has been among my five all-time favorites ever since I first read it, in 1978. And I still remember where and when: Nemadji Forest, the tiny log cabin so far off the beaten track, the dark night.

I’ll be back, in my own voice, next month. Or hey, let’s just say I’ll try again.

But for tonight, in this final hour of October 2024, “What more can I say?”

“Allegiances”

A poem by William Stafford

It is time for all the heroes to go home
if they have any, time for all of us common ones
to locate ourselves by the real things
we live by.

Far to the north, or indeed in any direction,
strange mountains and creatures have always lurked –
elves, goblins, trolls, and spiders – we
encounter them in dread and wonder,

But once we have tasted far streams, touched the gold,
found some limit beyond the waterfall,
a season changes, and we come back, changed
but safe, quiet, grateful.

Suppose an insane wind holds all the hills
while strange beliefs whine at the traveler’s ears,
we ordinary beings can cling to the earth and love
where we are, sturdy for common things.