Where the Title Comes From

So sorry I haven't been as present as I'd like to be but that will change very soon.  I find the whole thing a bit daunting but hopefully that will go by the wayside as a rhythm develops.  But anyway, the title. Each year Marty, Linda and I go to a rustic cabin on a lake (the water) in a remote part of Maine (the wild) and for a few days,  try to let go of our everyday roles and responsibilities and mindsets and just reconnect: drink lots of beer and wine and eat grotesquely colored, overly processed foods and  spontaneously sing show tunes around a campfire, or Cowboy Junkies tunes, and most importantly, say whatever comes to mind knowing we won't be judged no matter how outrageous or banal it is.  Kind of like being boys (see Linda's earlier post) but with more theory.  Belching and scratching are encouraged.   

The title is from a Yeats poem that resounds with all three of us, but everyone really, as we all seek the path back to innocence, uncomfortably knowing full well it will never the same, but needing that magic to live as sure as we need water and air. It happens in September and my little human children, I look forward to seeing you soon in the forgiving embers of the firelight where we'll foot it the night, weaving olden dances mingling hands and mingling glances till the moon has taken flight; to and fro we leap and chase the frothy bubbles, whilst the world is full of troubles and is anxious in its sleep.