Send my Roots Rain
The morning after the accident on Florida’s I -95, I found myself browsing my book shelf for my volume of Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poetry. Something deep within spoke to me and sent me searching for this particular nature and religious poet whom I had studied so many years ago at the University of the West Indies. I took the book with me to the doctor that morning and in the many weeks that followed with doctors’ visits, physical therapy sessions; facing down acute pain, physical and psychological, I found solace in the words. The rhyme and meter of his verse spoke to me as much as the words did. In waiting rooms and during quiet moments of reflection, it seemed that my heart beat in sync with the heavy, deliberate sometimes truncated rhythm of Hopkins’ poetry. His interrogative stance, his survey of the world and its unpredictability, all spoke to me in a spiritual and transcendental manner that connected with my soul’s yearning. I read his words throughout the weeks, and one late evening, just as the sun was setting in the sky I came across the words it seemed I had been searching for, “ Send my roots rain.”
Throughout my life, books have been constant and faithful companions, bringing words of comfort, sometimes jolting me out of complacency, often stirring up fires inside and prodding me to take action. I am so deeply grateful for authors who devote themselves to the art and lay themselves bare to connect with the rest of the world in this deep and meaningful way. Books have helped me to look deeply into my heart of darkness and get to know myself better as I reflect on the nature of my own experiences.
The tragic aspects of human life balanced with the magnificent splendors of nature and the indefatigable will of the human spirit are all conveyed in the books I adore and those I know waiting for me to read. For I truly believe as author Ernest Hemingway has stated, “There is no loyal friend as a good book.”