but, wait! you might want to go over to vision & verb

and read about the green ones first…

it is what it is

except when it’s not

and then it isn’t what it is

is it?

::

Timing is everything.

On Wednesday I went running. It was a hot day, not humid, not a cloud in the sky. Perfect. The trail was fairly empty, still lush and green and mostly covered in dappled shade. As I approached my second mile, I noticed a man on a bicycle coming towards me, still quite a distance away. At the same time, I saw a flash just in front of him, a bird’s wing as it cut across the path. At first I thought it was a robin, and then, no, too big. A crow?

Only it didn’t cut across, it turned, away from him, towards me. And in an instant. as it passed through a patch of sunlight, I saw that it was actually a hawk. My bird. And it was moving straight down the path, waist high, painting flight with broad strokes of its wings. It did not waiver, or veer, or act like it was lost. It kept on, headed right in my direction, glinting gold as it passed through patches of sunshine.

I kept running, although I was mesmerized. And it kept coming, straight for me. And then, when it was about fifteen feet away, it rose up over my head and continued on down the path. I couldn’t quite have reached out and touched it, but if my arms were five feet longer, I think I could have.

And here’s the thing: I had planned to go running much earlier that day, hours earlier, in fact. But things came up, I pushed my run back, minutes went by, then hours. And in the end, it all came down to seconds. Three seconds later, and I would have missed a sight that I will never forget.

A sight that is imprinted in my mind like the memory I have of my last dog, running towards me around the corner of our house, cantering like a horse, shiny black in tall green grass. He was happy in that moment, a big doggie smile on his face. His joy was evident. Two days later he was gone, suddenly and unexpectedly, and I have always wondered if I sensed what was to come, because I almost felt my mind snap a picture, recording that moment, him, just then, just there, in that spot. Forever.

And then there is the encounter I had with a bear while camping once, she on one side of the campfire, me on the other, the three men I was with, city boys, in the water. (Yes, I told them, as they ran for it, that bears will go in the water.) But they stayed where they were, and I stayed where we had all been just seconds before, by the fire. She looked at me, trying to focus through the smoke and the flames, wagging her big head back and forth. Our eyes met and she held my gaze for one brief second, and then turned and walked away.
I can see it still, in my mind.

And now, this giant, graceful hawk, flying straight down a path towards me. Golden wings glinting on and off through sun, then shade, and sun again. The white spotted belly that I followed as he vaulted up over my head.

I’m pretty sure he plucked a feather from my soul just at that moment, when I looked up and saw him silhouetted in the sun.

Because after that, for the rest of my run,

I flew.

summer again

yesterday’s cool breezes just a tease

waves of heat that whisper and shimmer

humidity dancing in a twenties flapper dress

and these dried out flowers that periscope up

to keep one eye on winter

setting seed for birds that will shiver

in the light of tomorrow’s dawn.

It’s Friday night and I am watching The Big Chill, a blast from my past, 1983. Three years before my son was born. Forever ago.

My son who just got his first “real” job, graduated from college in May, and is now on to a new stage in life.

The Big Chill. A movie about the death of a friend amongst friends, friends my age, or slightly younger. A movie from the time when I worked at a movie theater, and all the movies I played during that time, over and over, are imprinted on my brain in indelible ink.

E.T. Eight weeks, four shows a day. Back To The Future. Risky Business Hated that one, every night having to kick beer-drinking teenagers out of the theater, though some really funny stories come from that. Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan, the one where Spock dies. I used to go to the door of the theater every night at that exact moment and pull it open, to hear the sound of sobs and sniffles. For some reason, it always made me smile.

Flash Dance. Terms of Endearment. Noticing the fact that Shirley Maclaine’s dress changes as she walks across the airport. Same scene, different dress. Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life. A whole bunch of senior citizens coming out to the desk demanding their money back. They thought it really was about the meaning of life. Boy, were they surprised.

Oh the memories. The lifting of 30 pound reels of film up over my head, the frantic splicing each time the film broke, the smell of popcorn and coke, the perpetual stickiness of the floor.

Tootsie. Sixteen Candles. Purple Rain. The Breakfast Club. Two movies I have watched many times since then. An Officer and A Gentleman. Ghostbusters. Who you gonna call? Indiana Jones. The Karate Kid. Amadeus. Still one of my favorite all-time movies.

Out of Africa. The movie that never ends. And by that I don’t mean it was long and boring, I mean you never forget it. Footloose. Rambo. A movie that I wish I could forget. The Color Purple. Trading Places. Octopussy. Gremlins. Bright light!

The Outsiders. A Christmas Story. A movie I still watch every Christmas Eve. People were so offended back then, when it came out, portraying Santa in such a bad light. I think there were protests. Harrumph. Dad gummit, flob!

A Passage to India. Silkwood. The Natural. Some classics.

Revenge of the Nerds. Porky’s. Fast Times at Ridgemont High. I didn’t need to see any of that, and we won’t even go there.

Never Cry Wolf. Cocoon. Two favorites. Prizzi’s Honor. “Want a cookie, little girl?” I love Anjelica Huston.

Scarface. A movie that scarred me, for life.

Just a little walk down memory lane triggered by an old movie, kept in my back pocket all these years…

just won’t use a coaster…

no matter how many times you ask.

There is something about this day that keeps calling me outside.

I have been in and out all morning, inside working, then, feeling this magnetic pull, back out.

A cup of tea, some photos, playing with the crazy kittens that spend their days outside, hunting. Back in for more work. Accomplishing what must be accomplished. And when that is done, the must-do part of my day, I shall start on the should-do portion. Should pull these weeds, should paint that door, should make more jewelry, should do paperwork, or laundry, or vacuum, or dust. I don’t know where to start, which direction to point my feet in.

Except, there must be something to this, this not knowing where I’m going, this walking along a path with no a compass, because I am not afraid. Not lost.

Just here, navigating my way by feel and instinct and some inner sense of who I am, or want to be.

Just here, witnessing each day as it unfolds before me, not judging or wishing for a better one. Not dreaming or pretending or lamenting a life I do not have. But living this one. Sitting in my garden in the room I have built from flowers and earth and sky.

A giant room in my tiny world. I can see everything from here.

Just here.

It took me such a long time to arrive. I stumbled a lot and ran in circles and backtracked and trudged through rain and desert, wind and forest, sun and swamp. You can’t follow in my footsteps, even I can’t retrace them, couldn’t tell you where I started, or when I turned left rather than right, or even who I was on the day this journey began. I walked at night by the light of the moon, sometimes, and often, I walked all day. I trusted my heart to guide my feet. I carried my fear in a pack on my back, always behind me.

I am just here.

With this feeling that my entire life led me to this exact place and this feeling that it really was all for a reason and this feeling that I am about to be somewhere else.

Just like every other day, I suppose.

Just here.

me, feeling not quite like myself.

::   ::   ::   ::

Today I am over at vision & verb
feeling grateful for rain boots and kindness.

me, today.

I sit here, needing something, but I am speechless.

I have spent another day running around in circles. Some of them were good circles, some of them were too constraining. Some of them weren’t circles at all, they were spirals. I have so much to do that I can’t concentrate on anything, and for some reason,  I am exhausted. I have a show this weekend, I have to work, have to make ready, have to do this, have to do that.

But I sit here. Hoping that if I get the words out, something will change. Hoping it is the words, all jumbled up inside, causing this inability to focus. Hoping.

I am outside, it is almost dusk, the air is still. My mind is not.
My mind is like these mosquitoes that are about to drive me inside. Pesky, buzzing, flittering, fluttering. Annoying.

If I sit here long enough, I wonder if my mind will become as calm as the air. I hear birds. Crickets. Peeping frogs. No grasshoppers just now, perhaps they are already asleep. The fading sunlight filters through the long row of bushes that hides me from my neighbors, my far-away neighbors that I still wish to be hidden from.

At the end of that row is the elderberry bush, bent low to the ground with the weight of its fruit, full and ripe. I feel like that too, just now. Heavy with my own potential.

I should get up and get my camera so I can take a picture of this abstract watercolor sky. But I feel too tired. I don’t have the energy. If I go inside to get my camera, I don’t think I’ll come back out.

Inside, the fans are still going. Outside, the air is perfectly still.

It has been like that since this morning.

I think I just need to sit here for a bit
and enjoy this breeze of silence.

:

p.s. I came back out.