han shan and i are enjoying 

a cup of tea, contemplating dust motes,

when who should walk through the door but bob dylan.

han shan smiles, nods toward the tea pot

and toward a tatami mat in the corner.

i guess they're old friends, bob dylan seems to know his way around.

i'm pretty quiet most of the time, even more so around han shan, 

but this has me nearly tongue-tied.

han shan introduces us—bob, lynn, lynn, bob.

bob dylan takes a sip of tea

and nods his head. we contemplate motes for a while.

i say, nice to meet you. he looks at me

as if i'm someone, or something,  he's seen before 

but can't quite place, but says, nice to meet you too, and then it’s quiet.

~

i’m used to companionable silence with han shan,

but not bob dylan.

if my thoughts had been centered, they no longer are.

i’m quite nonplussed, thoughts flying every which way.

i’m sorely tempted to tell bob dylan about my north country girl, 

after all, i call her that because of his song—girl from the north country.

but i don't say anything, how can i?

boy dylan has probably heard countless stories 

about his songs, and their effect on listeners. 

i needn't add mine. 

we're quiet, 

we’re watching motes, which we wouldn’t be doing

if the sun weren't coming slantwise 

through han shan's open door, but it is, so we are.

~

in any case, what would i say?—

bob dylan, i met a girl 

in florida last february. we fell in love

and held hands while walking through the surf

looking for pretty shells 

and dreaming about a life of perfect, intimate bliss.

we spent two days together, kissed

and parted ways

never to see one another again.

she was the love of my life.

she lives somewhere in the north of england.

she's my north country girl.

it would sound silly.

but it isn't.

~

bob dylan starts free-associating 

on thoughts he had while walking up the mountain, 

and thoughts he's had since his last visit, 

which apparently was some time ago. 

han shan listens.

when han shan listens, he really listens, but not so you would know.

he seems to be more concerned with motes,

but i know him a little by now.

he’s listening.

i decide that bob dylan is just a guy after all, just like 

the rest of us, thinking thoughts,

only he has a way of putting his thoughts into words

which sits kind of right with a lot of people.

he's pretty intense all the same.

~

after a while i excuse myself, step out for a little fresh air,

which is a euphemism.

as i'm euphemising i think about how nice it is

to be up in the high mountains, breathing thin cold air

with han shan and bob dylan.

it is nice.

it says something about nature, and possibilities,

about taking first steps, and letting go,

about understanding that fear and opportunity are entwined,

that it's important to sort them out, and have a little faith,

and believe what is doesn't have to be, 

that change is possible, and sometimes it's for the better,

and sometimes it isn't, but it's good to step out, 

so to speak, once in a while.

~

after freshening up

i'm inclined to pick a bouquet of violets for han shan,

a little color for his humble abode,

but i don't because it's winter,

and because i might accidentally pick 

an agèd, and long deceased, ancestor, i just breathe

the cold air, and pretend i'm a soaring bird

riding thermals

and humming the tune to girl from the north country.

i fall easily, but this was different.

i thought—this is it.

i don’t know what to say. it didn’t happen.

still, one can't help but wonder about these things.

can one?

~

han shan's humble abode 

smells of fresh spices and fruit, i brought him a basket

from the markets below, that 

and a few different teas i thought he might enjoy.

it smells sweet and pleasant.

bob dylan looks to be meditating.

han shan smiles at me when i come in.

there is nowhere

i'd rather be, but i can't stop thinking about her.

i say, i can't stop thinking about her.

han shan knows my story. 

he’s quiet while contemplating my words. 

bob dylan says, don’t say i didn’t warn you when the train gets lost,

which makes about as much sense as anything.

~

han shan has been on the mountain for so long

that i think he's learned 

how to forget what seemed important, but wasn't, 

or was, but cannot be. 

he’s learned how to let go,

or, he's learning how to let go.

i think that's why i come, and why bob dylan comes.

there are lessons to be learned,

and though han shan cannot tell us, he can listen, 

and more often than not, that's what we need—someone to listen. 

but more than that, we need someone to hold, and to hold us, 

and maybe han shan is too old for that, but i'm not, and it makes me sad,

not for myself, because sometimes i have someone to hold,

but for those who haven't been held for too long.

~

the days are short and the journey is long.

bob dylan and i walk down the mountain side by side, 

or as jimmie driftwood would have put it—stirrup by stirrup.

we don't talk much, mostly about han shan

and the weather. 

when we reach the marketplace we say goodbye. 

i'm not going to kick myself for all the things

i could have said but didn't.

no, i'm glad to have said naught, to let him be a man, just a man,

and not the iconic bob dylan. we say goodbye and go our separate ways, 

unlikely to meet again.

that's the way it is sometimes,

people come into your life, some stay, some go.

i think han shan would agree, sometimes that's the way it is.

~

"don’t say i didn’t warn you when the train gets lost"

—lyric by bob dylan

"stirrup by stirrup"

—lyric by jimmie driftwood