Yesterday's walk in the park seemed to be all about summer color. There was something about the clarity of the light. Cool air, hot sun, the craft fair that I avoided. I woke too early with low energy so decided to allow myself a lazy day with as much solitude as I could find. No grocery shopping, no Fourth of July fetes to attend at various friends' homes. The drive to the park revealed how crowded our small town is during this holiday weekend and I wasn't up for that. As for fireworks, I planned to ignore them or watch from my second floor deck just as I have in many years past. I remembered about halfway through the display and decided to try for some pictures with my zoom lens. I grabbed the camera and barefoot, in PJs, basically unprepared, began shooting.
The photos are mostly a washout but the challenge was fun and it was wonderfully chilly in the night air. Accompanying the far away sparkling blasts (I couldn't hear the booms over the thunder), lightning regularly lit up the whole sky, instant brief daylight, mighty competitors. I tried to capture nature's sudden lights but they were just too rapid for my equipment to handle. Earlier, on the phone, my daughter and I reminisced about the many times when she visited or granddaughter Kira stayed with us and we sat on the deck wrapped in blankets and sweaters and sipped lavender tea with honey (wine for me) and watched the display from our very own private perch. My thoughts were all about those long ago days as I watched alone last night, remembering that last year's holiday was spent with them in Connecticut.
I had no idea last year on the Fourth of July how my life would soon change in many ways over the next year. There were major losses and gains, inevitable change, inflation, deflation, joy, despair. I published a few things, did a couple of readings, stopped writing for awhile, refused workshops and invitations, knitted more, knitted less (still working on this one sock), started filling notebooks again and had many deep talks with best friends and family.
Those talks with more objective beings helped get me through this time without stabbing myself in the eye with a knitting needle. They're still helping and I am more than grateful. I'm not afraid to cry out when I need help and those that care hear and come knocking at my metaphorical door. And speaking of objective beings, the horses are back! Six!
There are two young ones among the adults (I think they're all mares): the two year old who was born on our land and her mother who birthed another foal last year while I was away. The grasses are very high in the fields as you can see from the photo and these lovely creatures (also known as eating machines) are enjoying it immensely. As I am enjoying watching them. They exude tranquility and decorate the landscape. All but one were taken away yesterday for the Arroyo Seco parade, but they will be back. The one left behind spent the day neighing loudly looking in the direction in which she'd last seen them. When I went outside to see what the noise was all about, she immediately came trotting to me. Unfortunately, I was not who she was looking for.
Lightning is not guidance.
Lightning simply tells the clouds to weep.
Cry a little. The streak-lightning of our minds
comes so that we'll weep and long for our real lives.
Rumi (trans. Coleman Barks)
