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
::
::
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.
