modes of enlightenment

scatterings of help
I sometimes drop the balls I'm juggling, just like everyone else, and turn into an impatient, stressed-out being. Until (and if) I remember to stop, take some breaths, accept difficult times, let go of the things that keep me suffering, and try to be more of a help than a hindrance to those around me. It helps to have new yarn called Sea Turtle Dreams (Lorna's Laces Limited Edition Shepherd Sport) with all its possibilities. It really evokes thoughts of the sea and the creatures within it.

It also helps to leave the house, my desk and its associated responsibilities, and go to a cafe. Taos has a dearth of urban pleasures that some of us miss, but we do have an ever-changing, always abundant plethora of independent coffee shops. There's no Starbucks here, but there is Wired Cafe, Taos Cow, Elevation, Manila Cafe, Coffee Stop, Caffe Tazza. Others combine casual fare with coffee shop atmosphere. There were other cafes that disappeared through the years. I still miss Casa Fresen, Turquoise Teapot, Cafe Loka. All are, and have been, good places to write and many books have been written in them. As a cafe writer I have had to learn to turn off distracting sounds. Bury my nose in a notebook (I don't bring the laptop to these places) and just work. But I do get distracted and the distractions end up in my notes.

monday afternoon
The friendly koi in the indoor pond, my small round table just a few inches from it, my purse could fall right in, startle the orange and silver one who seems to surface just to get my attention, whose picture I take with my small blue camera that just flashed low battery. The crinkled faded paper sign above the pond warns us to not throw things at the koi (who would do that?) because they are "very shy and will hide for weeks after any traumas".

The three women at the next table talk about enlightenment and the New Jersey Turnpike. They are about to leave, wish each other "good dreams", as the curious koi, not traumatized at all by my picture-taking, swim back and forth in silver and yellow and orange fishy enlightenment.

In a month all the frozen fountains and small ponds outside will be melodic and fluid again.
In a month it won't seem so odd to hear a robin's chirping.
In a month it will be difficult to separate the robin's voice from chattering finches, sparrows, the insistent red-winged blackbird.
In a month, will the lilacs fail again?