there are days when i whine
and days when i cry
and days when the world tastes bitter.
but the thing i love best
about this mad life
is that just after one of those days
you might just wake up
to one of these days.
lights out, time for sleep, sitting here
in the dark
in the quiet
the only sound the baseball game
still playing in the bedroom as my husband sleeps
there is always a game on somewhere in the house
i don’t mind, it has become the background music of my life
sometimes i turn baseball on when i am here alone
just because it feels normal, soothing
it is late, very late, i should be asleep
but i sit here
fingers itching to write
not sure what they want to say, these fingers
but i let them talk anyway
i wish i could sit here in the dark, in the night, in the quiet
not so tired, and listen to the night
or that game or just the sound of my own breath
i wish it was that night, but instead it is a night
when i am too exhausted to go to bed
another time i will sit here
in the dark
in the quiet
in the night
i will listen
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.
This was the moon two nights ago. I was just about to go to bed, had just gone out to the kitchen to get myself some water, when I saw this outside my window:
So I put my shoes on, my pajamas were okay (no neighbors), and I went out to see if I could capture what I saw. This is close, although technically, it’s not a great picture. I didn’t use a tripod, it’s blurry, the moon is blown out. But this shot captured the mood pretty well, and I kind of like it.
I love that the moon is not the same every night, it changes as moods vary, auras shift, different spots are illuminated.
I thought about how love is not the same every night, either.
And about 26 really slow-exposure shots later, I had drawn myself a moonheart. The picture below is exactly the same as the picture above, same placement, same exposure.
Except that I moved my hand in the shape of a heart.
And yes, it is upside down, but here’s the thing: I drew it right side up, and I know that it is a camera-mirror thing, and I could have flipped it in Photoshop. But, the trees were still facing up??? and I couldn’t quite figure that out, which didn’t matter because actually
I loved that even though I had drawn it right side up,
my heart ended up upside down.
Plus I drew a heart using the moon as my pencil.
you didn’t have to sing me that song,
there were others who could carry that tune.
you didn’t have to open doors and whisper secrets,
i could have done that on my own.
you didn’t have to turn sideways in the mirror,
i could see your reflection, laughing.
you didn’t have to leak bright bits of sunshine,
they were there, in my forest, before you.
but still, i opened you just like a book
and read each word of your story.
you didn’t have to have such
a sad ending.
i would have loved you,
just the same.
An afternoon that swallows time. Even when I beg, there is
no more. Deadlines and desideritas, my life.
I take myself too seriously. Ponder things that can’t be solved. Worship silence and sanctuary when there is none. Too many moments pass while I stare out my window.
A garden that grows without me. A tale that was not true.
A mystery that has no answer. My life.
A series of situations. A corner that keeps my secrets. A broom
that sweeps almost nothing clean. My life.
Some days overwhelm me. Some days wait to be taken.
Some days sing songs that only I can hear. Some days I sit on
the floor and weep. This is not my imagination.
A forest that leaves light unspoken. A tree that whispers platitudes. A fern that grows in shadow. My life.
A sunbeam filled with dancers. A teardrop left unclaimed.
A glimpse of mediocrity. My life.
Dreams that claim my sleep the way lovers claim their hearts.
Things I cannot have lined up before me. Things I do not want
stand next in line.
A comfort that eludes me. A melody of words that have no tune.
A signature I do not recognize. My life.
A smile on my lips, of strawberries and wine.
A summer day that does not end.
I stand here, waiting.
The days are long,
the nights stretch,
and I whisper
as I walk into the sunset.
My heart has wings,
my soul has dreams,
the forest is my home.
Again.
red poppies make me think of blood
they pop off the landscape like pinwheels
green is earth’s favorite color
i am in the mood for popcorn
this moment won’t last
i have been sitting here forever
the hawk that just flew over my head, he is the one,
the one i was supposed to be watching for
a blue chair in my garden is reflecting
white cottonwood falls like snow
today is the perfect temperature
i am surrounded by roses
they have thorns
their scent is cloying
they are beautiful
weeds taunt me and i ignore them
the woodpile directly before me is
the black walnut tree from my parents
when i was a kid we made
necklaces from horse chestnuts
i always cut my palm
boring holes through them with a knife
the necklaces lasted for a day
we spent the whole day before that
making them
silence is not golden it is purple
fireflies are faeries in disguise
i am 47
i would prefer
to be 39
my skin is so dry
i like a tree with gnarled branches
i like the word gnarled
this moment is for the birds
a chickadee
life
It is hot, so hot, way too hot for May, I want to go out and play,
in the sun, in my garden, and work up a really good sweat.
I want the sun to be sauna, cleanse my body, my soul, I want
to bake til I’m done to perfection.
I want to outlast the flowers that wilt in this heat, stand up tall, stretch my arms, drink the light.
I want to fill an old jar with cold lemonade, tip my head, let it run down my chin.
I want to veer off a path filled with trillium and fronds, find a spot that is dappled with shade.
I want to stand in the middle of life’s endless road and watch heat shimmer up from the pavement.
I want to pull up a chair when dusk comes to call and listen to birds say goodnight.
I want to feel the cool grass beneath my bare feet and watch as the fireflies frolic.
I want to count the planets, say their names one by one, and call them home like children.
I want to howl at the moon just because it is there and and seems to be begging for silence.
I want to lay down my head, sleep the sleep of the dead, when my body just aches with exhaustion.
I want to wake in the morning with sun in my eyes, all shadow removed from the room.
It is hot, so hot, way too hot for May,
I want to walk to the edge of the ocean.
