ten years later
that’s what we call it
not nine eleven oh one
not September, 11, 2001
just
nine eleven
two words
three digits
two towers
four planes
thousands
of
mothers
fathers
daughters
sons
sisters
brothers
wives
husbands
aunts
uncles
girlfriends
boyfriends
not statistics
falling
from
the
sky
not dates
or where were you’s
just whole hearts
in odd numbers
each one
the only necessary
evidence
of love
Life is so simple. So complicated. So simple.
Yes, I know, I can’t make up my mind. I’m sitting outside with my yin and yang kittens, both exactly the same size, one grey striped, one orange striped, one in my lap, one at my feet, one playful and adventurous, the other shy, quiet, steady.
It’s a sultry summer afternoon, and it’s cooler inside with the air conditioning on, but I want to be outside, sitting here in my jungle that used to be garden, attempting to think about nothing. And so, of course, I think about life.
My friend Mr. Mockingbird comes a-calling, interrupting my reverie to remind me that he has it all figured out. Which makes me smile.
A bumblebee, too damaged or near death to fly, crawls along the stones at my feet, and I am sad for him.
Thunder rumbles somewhere off in the distance and all the flowers in my yard perk their ears up, wishing, hoping, praying for some rain to quench their thirst.
The air is still and my mind is racing. I’ve been here, in this place, before.
How many times have I parked myself here, in this spot, in this very same chair, and listened to this very same bird while lamenting the state of my garden?
Of course, it doesn’t matter.
It only matters that I am here, now, with this hot, humid air laying heavy on my skin, letting life settle in all around me.
The rain may come and wash the dust away. Or not.
Either way I will sit in this place. Listening. Breathing. Sweating.
There is no other place to be.
::
What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011?
::
i can pick at least eleven things
the whole world could do without:
war. poverty. hunger.
intolerance. abuse. disease.
hatred. cruelty. disaster.
violence. indifference.
::
after that,
all the things i don’t need,
well, they’re just
things.
::
::
Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year.
::
Okay, so maybe this is cheating, but when I read this question, the moment the immediately came to mind was the one I’d already written about in a post called hawk eye, and I knew that to write about it again would just be silly, so I am reposting it here today.
If you’ve already read it, my apologies. But without a doubt, it was the moment in which I felt most alive, most in the moment, this year.
So here it is, again. Recycling is good, right?
:: ::
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.
that shadow on the wall is dylan
as i saw him two weeks ago
a shadow of who he once was, perhaps
but he owns that shadow
there, on that wall
and anytime he is here
i am there.
Oh, that’s right, to tell you I am over at Vision and Verb today, looking for a pair of scissors…
Just a short update to let you know that George is doing better, his surgery went well, mostly, he has developed a little bubble on his stomach over the weekend so I will have to call tomorrow to check on that, but overall, he is on the mend.
Thanks for all your well wishes.
Yes, I am crazy.
you drew these lines in the sand, not me.
thought you could box me in i think
but i am not so simple
not so easily defined
not so ready to be so still
and i’m not sure if you hope that i will cross them
or if you’d rather that i hurdle them
but either way, you know, you know
i’m not just going to stand here
and wait until my feet take root
when i’m so thirsty.
