that's mrs. mediocrity to you

I was taking pictures across a gully of an object to her right that I could not identify. I didn’t see her, although I must have been standing there for several minutes, trying to figure out what the strange object was. It was only when I gave up and started to walk away that I caught those ears out of the corner of my eye.

Ears almost bigger than her head, listening, alert. Knowing that I had no way to reach her, but aware, just the same. She never moved, never shifted a nostril or and eyelid, just stared at me, perhaps wondering if there was any danger from this woman with that black clunky thing held up to her eye. Or perhaps she was simply curious.

Almost, I missed her. With my eye trained through the lens of my camera, I failed to see what was right there in front of me. It’s not the first time this has happened, and sometimes it is a good thing, like when the heron flew through the spot my lens was focused on.

But it made me wonder what else I might have missed along those five miles, as I walked and then limped and for the last half mile or so, cursed a little. And yes, one of the reasons I went for this walk was to take pictures. But I forgot, in my mission, to be there. I forgot to just walk, to soak up the sun, to breathe in the smell of woods and wildlife, to pay attention.

Almost, I missed her.

Just another reminder on another day that life is always happening all around me, whether I pay attention or not, whether I choose to focus on what’s inside my head or what’s outside my body.

I wondered if it’s the same for her. Does she ever forget where she is, lost in memory or preoccupation with what’s for dinner?

I’d like to think not. I’d like to think that she saw me approach, sat very still as I took my photos, and smiled to herself at my complete lack of awareness. I’d like to think that she’s better at this than I am, this living. I’d like to think that she knows something I don’t.

Lesson learned? Perhaps. Except I know that I will forget again, one day soon, when I have more things on my mind than I can keep track of.

But in the end, I saw her. I didn’t miss her, not completely. The corner of my eye is still good for some things. I’m not completely unaware of my surroundings. But I do need to slow down a little, enough to catch my breath and enjoy the place I’m standing in.

That’s what she taught me from across that gully. We didn’t need words or gestures or sound. She made me understand, as I stood there, that life only moves as quickly as you let it. That stopping for a rest on a sunlit afternoon never hurt anything.

There was no danger, there.

Only wisdom.

i might wish to

live in a tent for the summer

run through the forest at dawn

breathe in the scent of white roses

roll in the green sheet of lawn

::

but at night i find i’d simply rather

bathe in the silence of moonlight

fold my heart into the arms of dancing stars

smile at the envelope of birdsong

lie beneath this veil of muffled charm

::

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this post is part of one shot wednesday

The first dragonfly of the year appeared in my garden last week, and posed for me while I snapped several photos. This weekend, at our jewelry show, a dragonfly flew into our tent and then couldn’t find its way back out until I had unzipped several sections and offered a bit of guidance. And then it was free.

I’m exhausted this morning. Hanging on like this dragonfly, still and ready to fly if necessary, but grateful for the brief rest. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the scent of roses and peonies drifts in through my studio window.

I’m trying hard not to be in a bad mood. The not being able to run is making me grumpy in more ways than I had anticipated. Or maybe it is just life making me grumpy. Or hormones. Or all the questions that keep buzzing around in my head. Questions that always flit away before I’ve read their answers.

I keep living the questions, buzzing around on them, with them, over them, under them. It makes me dizzy. When I stop for a moment, cling to something strong and steady, I see that the answers are never really hidden, they just move faster than I do. I only have to pause for a second to see several of them zooming by.

Just now, I’m going to let them go, without even trying to read them as they fly past. I’m going to enjoy this sunlight and soak up something that feels like wisdom, although it could just as easily be trepidation. I’m thinking it’s a good thing, in this life, to be stubborn. To hold on. To refuse to give up.

Learning to fly comes naturally for birds and dragonflies. Less so for humans. But I keep flapping away, all the while losing my balance, regaining my footing, fluttering and floating on breezes and happenstance.

Today, I’m going to walk. I’m going to sink into the gravity that anchors me and feel its pull. I’m going to enjoy the warmth of the earth beneath my feet.

And already, I feel light as a feather.

Funny how that works.

Isn’t it?

while trying to take a picture of another bird,

right there in that tree to the right.

i call that

serendipity.

up late, working late, back aches,
it’s already past my bedtime
and i’m not finished yet.

hand work, piece by piece,
busy work or works of art
i wish i knew the difference.

and then these words
bubble up to the surface
the way they will
when i forget to watch the pot,

songs and syllables that boil over
and make a mess

one that will stay there for days.

::

night owl, always
wandering through the dark
with no light

feeling my way
along the path i’ve worn
in these floorboards

in this room, in this house, in this life

with one impatient peony
in the garden

already bloomed and withered

before any of the others
have even begun

to open.

::

Today I am over at Vision & Verb

thinking about things that remind me of other things,

and letters dancing…

::

and this photo really cracked me up.

::

lift your lid and

take a peek

at what’s inside.

::

May 26. A day like any other.

Another weekday filled with work and longing to be elsewhere, outside in my garden, running, being held up by a breeze.

Except. I stole the afternoon. I couldn’t help it. And I’m not doing anything, not pulling one million dandelions or planting or watering or designing or cleaning or fixing or producing.

I am sitting in my garden listening to birdsong and breezes, basking in an already too-warm sun, trying not to feel guilty while doing it.

Okay, fine, I’m not having all that much trouble with the guilt.

The bluebirds haven’t been here at all today, I think the cats may have finally frightened them away. This makes me sad and relieved all at once.

But the mockingbird has a nest in the row of pines along the edge of the property, and while I can’t see him, I can hear him, show-off that he is, marking time in the voices of others.

These are the kind of moments I live for. I can’t decide if that’s sad or not. Although I think I’m deciding that it’s not. Oh, I’m sure there are people that have lives much more exciting than mine, but I am content sitting here in my garden, bare feet up on a chair, sun on my face, surrounded by the jungle of my existence.

I never thought I’d be this woman, sitting in her backyard, not needing anything else.

Yet here I am. Soaking up so much more than the sun that glints off the oh-so-white skin of my shins.

And what’s really blinding

is my smile.

you can’t walk through fire until
you’ve sunk to your knees in the mud

or smell lavender promises
before brushing dirt from your lips

you won’t ever see sky
if you wear lost glasses

you’ll never talk to a bird
if you keep yourself grounded

you will always lack focus
if you ride through the mist

green will always be just a color
if you never lay down in the grass.

you can’t circumvent hope
if you wish to survive

or hold hands with a rock
when you seek all that’s tender

but you can talk to the wall
that has built its own tower

and form a ladder of change
that will grow with each breath.

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this post is part of one shot poetry wednesday

mostly the self-imposed ones, the ones that keep your feet sunk ankle deep in the mud of doubt, the ones that don’t leave any footprints, so no one else can follow.

or the ones that leave you standing alone in a field full of possibilities with no map, no compass, no food, no water.

they are crafty, these limits, they know how to get their own way, how to trick you into believing the sweet nothings they whisper in your ear, candy-coated barely audible murmurs that later become exactly what they are:

nothing.

they like to build boxes up around you of wood and of steel, then marry you to your fear and give you pretty wrapped packages filled with nothing but questions. always, the questions.

i’ve been living the questions for so long that i’ve forgotten why
i need to know the answers.

this is not despair, it’s a realization. i prefer that to despair, which feeds on itself like a morbid cannibal. there is never too much, there is always enough. no limits, there.

i choose instead to understand my limits, but not to accept them.
i refuse to open the package with the tag that says you cannot, or the one that says you will fall, or even the one that says perhaps.

i kick them all into the corner and watch as they mingle with themselves, a bit of dust, and notes from a girl who once believed those phrases of fear.

there is, however, one package left on the table, with a tag that says tomorrow.

but i’m not going to open that one, either.

at least not until it gets here.