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Out of my Head

by Bob Dunkel

. . . and so your seed is set, tucked in and falling asleep to the pulsing of the root fibers that have anchored deep and now await the winter's creep . . . There is something powerful in the exhaustion that precedes a state of rest. A silent acknowledgement of duty fulfilled that brings on the surrender to time and weather's way and rocks us in its sway. There is an insulating factor that, for awhile now, is beyond our normal senses, that reaches away from the light into a memory as old as these elder cloves and takes us on the journey of this season of quiet. . . .

It was a busy summer, heading for the fullness of fall. The festivals came with the droves of people, hungry eyes and thirsting tongues of the Sulfurites that are magnetized to these gatherings. Yet, what is it? Just stop and think. There is a mantra in its smell, a dance in its bite and a delight in its partaking as the sulfur's spell is released. Those of us so bold as to admit of our furious breath are suddenly surrounded by legions of others in love with this stinking rose.

So now that we are repose, like squirrels in nut heaven, let's take the time to dream aloud and think about the Foundation. A new board of directors is emerging and agendas are on the horizon. Committees will form and ideals will be tempered by the wisdom of experience. What is it you want this group to do? What research or outreach is important to you? What will become our mission statement as we start a New Year? Let us hear from you, one way or another. Tell us of your dreams, or even your fears, as we begin to wrestle with the morrow, for there is much that we may do and much more than even that to speak about.

Let's forget the garlic for a moment, even ignore the seed for now, and all focus on this Foundation. What is it we are building, and what is it we are building upon? Over the coming season of quiet rest and inner contemplation, let's all take some time to reflect on who and what we really are. As we plan ahead, expand and develop our markets, experiment in our cultural practices, let us meditate on what direction this entity, the GSF is to take. Please drop us a line or a card and tell us what you want us to do. We are only as strong as we allow ourselves to be, so let's dream on together while the sulfur sleeps. . . .

Winters Creep
Little men with cloven hooves
Race across the village roofs
Starlight twinkling in their eyes
silhouettes against the skies. . .
'Tis the season fires blaze
Nights so long, so short the days
Days so cold when white it gleams
'Tis the time the dreamer dreams:
Tiny roothairs anchored deep
Tho' the earth seems fast asleep
Slowly draining mother clove
While cousins simmer on the stove.
Sulfur sings of its release
Harmonizing with the geese
Bulbs envisioned in the dark
Bring to mind a warmly spark
That sets a fire to the night
To outlast yet the waning light
On to where the ground will swell
Then at last the air will smell
of vapors from the allium's tip
as so begins this yearly trip. . .
Still adream, we silent wake
The slumber gone we hesitate
Could be this tiny clove, this seed
Transforms the earth in times of need
Masquerades as minerals flow
Sulfur breathing 'neath the snow
Erupts awhile into the light
Then sinks again back out of sight
Back to where the night is day
Where wrappers tighten all the way
From seed to seed and shore to shore
The wave of light for evermore
Will slowly sing the clove to sleep
As dreamers dream and winters creep. . .

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   Out of my Head
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