Did you ever feel that on a certain unexpected day your life would start heading in another direction? We all have had that happen at some point, but I was really surprised by it today. An ordinary gorgeous spring day. The usual birds, a faraway barely discernible church bell, the brief laughter of the neighborhood kids, a barking dog. A Sunday morning feeling. A baby shower to attend later, (the woman who was an 8 year old girl when I first met her), some grass to mow, maybe a stop by the nursery for a few hardy flowers for the terracotta pots on the deck. But that's not how it played out this Sunday. I don't know final outcomes--how could I? but I'm open. I sense great changes in the air immediately around us and am curious to see what will transpire. Not afraid. I dreamed last night that death committed suicide. Meanwhile, we take an afternoon drive with Spike on the road to the Ski Valley and stop at a magical place in the woods by a rushing river.
We are the only people (and dog) there. Snowmelt. Simple cold water; winter snow become water in May, tracing ancient paths through trees and villages, flowing for miles until it's subsumed into the Gulf of Mexico hundreds of miles away from these chilly peaks with winter breath even in summer. Spike, unafraid, loves it. I keep him on a leash lest the current sweep him away. We decide that we should rename him Alphi since he's so bold and confident. He'd answer to it too.
The trees around this part of the river are in some places festooned with Christmas ornaments. I've seen versions of this before. It's eerie, pretty, and I can understand the impetus toward connection that emerges when one is sitting around a campfire, scent of burning cedar branches, beautiful roar of river. But were these festooners here in December's bitter cold? Cold that even a blazing bonfire can't assuage for long?
It's the same spot where I used to take my small granddaughter in summer's past, where we ate grapes and homemade gingerbread bear cookies, drank cool water, told stories. She wore a neon pink Big Bird backpack and collected flat river rocks that she brought home and painted with colorful snake designs (I still use and cherish them as paperweights). She was into southwestern iconography and snakes were her metier that year.
Ron took photos of his stabile maquettes. We couldn't place them in the river for ahtsy-pics or they'd be swept away, so we had to settle for tame, shallow close-ups. We each tried with our respective cameras but nothing great was captured. Next time we'll bring a large steel pieces and challenge the river.
While Ron sprawled out with his camera I spotted a cloud that resembled a while buffalo -- a very good omen for the start of a new life.
A night full of talking that hurts,
my worst held-back secrets. Everything
has to do with loving and not loving.
this night will pass. . .
Rumi
