::

nature is laced

with

contradictions.

::

::

What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011?

::

i can pick at least eleven things
the whole world could do without:

war. poverty. hunger.

intolerance. abuse. disease.

hatred. cruelty. disaster.

violence. indifference.

::

after that,

all the things i don’t need,

well, they’re just

things.

::

{reverb10} check it out here

::

Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year.

::

Okay, so maybe this is cheating, but when I read this question, the moment the immediately came to mind was the one I’d already written about in a post called hawk eye, and I knew that to write about it again would just be silly, so I am reposting it here today.

If you’ve already read it, my apologies. But without a doubt, it was the moment in which I felt most alive, most in the moment, this year.
So here it is, again. Recycling is good, right?

:: ::

hawk eye

Timing is everything.

On Wednesday I went running. It was a hot day, not humid, not a cloud in the sky. Perfect. The trail was fairly empty, still lush and green and mostly covered in dappled shade. As I approached my second mile, I noticed a man on a bicycle coming towards me, still quite a distance away. At the same time, I saw a flash just in front of him, a bird’s wing as it cut across the path. At first I thought it was a robin, and then, no, too big. A crow?

Only it didn’t cut across, it turned, away from him, towards me. And in an instant. as it passed through a patch of sunlight, I saw that it was actually a hawk. My bird. And it was moving straight down the path, waist high, painting flight with broad strokes of its wings. It did not waiver, or veer, or act like it was lost. It kept on, headed right in my direction, glinting gold as it passed through patches of sunshine.

I kept running, although I was mesmerized. And it kept coming, straight for me. And then, when it was about fifteen feet away, it rose up over my head and continued on down the path. I couldn’t quite have reached out and touched it, but if my arms were five feet longer, I think I could have.

And here’s the thing: I had planned to go running much earlier that day, hours earlier, in fact. But things came up, I pushed my run back, minutes went by, then hours. And in the end, it all came down to seconds. Three seconds later, and I would have missed a sight that I will never forget.

A sight that is imprinted in my mind like the memory I have of my last dog, running towards me around the corner of our house, cantering like a horse, shiny black in tall green grass. He was happy in that moment, a big doggie smile on his face. His joy was evident. Two days later he was gone, suddenly and unexpectedly, and I have always wondered if I sensed what was to come, because I almost felt my mind snap a picture, recording that moment, him, just then, just there, in that spot. Forever.

And then there is the encounter I had with a bear while camping once, she on one side of the campfire, me on the other, the three men I was with, city boys, in the water. (Yes, I told them, as they ran for it, that bears will go in the water.) But they stayed where they were, and I stayed where we had all been just seconds before, by the fire. She looked at me, trying to focus through the smoke and the flames, wagging her big head back and forth. Our eyes met and she held my gaze for one brief second, and then turned and walked away.
I can see it still, in my mind.

And now, this giant, graceful hawk, flying straight down a path towards me. Golden wings glinting on and off through sun, then shade, and sun again. The white spotted belly that I followed as he vaulted up over my head.

I’m pretty sure he plucked a feather from my soul just at that moment, when I looked up and saw him silhouetted in the sun.

Because after that, for the rest of my run,

I flew.

{reverb10} check it out here

that shadow on the wall is dylan

as i saw him two weeks ago

a shadow of who he once was, perhaps

but he owns that shadow

there, on that wall

and anytime he is here

i am there.

august break no. 2

me.

Oh, that’s right, to tell you I am over at Vision and Verb today, looking for a pair of scissors…

Just a short update to let you know that George is doing better, his surgery went well, mostly, he has developed a little bubble on his stomach over the weekend so I will have to call tomorrow to check on that, but overall, he is on the mend.

Thanks for all your well wishes.

Yes, I am crazy.

you drew these lines in the sand, not me.

thought you could box me in i think

but i am not so simple

not so easily defined

not so ready to be so still

and i’m not sure if you hope that i will cross them

or if you’d rather that i hurdle them

but either way, you know, you know

i’m not just going to stand here

and wait until my feet take root

when i’m so thirsty.

Days go by, and despite all the times I’ve reminded myself how important it is to stop and smell the roses, I still forget to do it.

I get busy, distracted, bullied by time.

I start out each morning with the best of intentions. I will be mindful of the moments, savor them, revel in them. I will keep my head up, open to the world around me. I will be a better me. I will make sure to spend time with those I love. I will not waste time with worry, or frustration, or anger. I will live life to the fullest.

And some days, I pull it off. I manage to feel that way, at least part of the time. Others days, it is seven o’clock and I am still working,
I have worked all day without looking up, head down, mind wrapped in my own thoughts, what has to be done, how long I have left to do it, how much more I can accomplish before I go to bed. And then it is bedtime and I am too tired to do anything but stare at the ceiling for a few minutes before I drift off to sleep. Too tired to read, even. And I realize that another day has passed in which I forgot to remember…

To literally stop and smell the roses, or lilacs, or lilies, or any other flower that I happen to pass by.

To tell my husband that I love him, and that I appreciate the things he does, like buying groceries.

To take care of myself. To stop and listen to nothing but my own breathing. Even if it’s only for fifteen minutes.

To look up. Outward, outside of myself and the tunnel my brain lives in to see what is going on in the rest of the world.

To be thankful to be alive, grateful for everything I have, happy to be here, in this day, this hour, this moment.

To enjoy the simple things, like washing the dishes, sweeping the floor, meditating on life as I go through the motions.

To eat food that I love, food that is good for me, even if it takes a little longer to prepare.

To sing when my favorite song comes on the radio. To actually turn the radio on.

To connect with my children, even if it is only a text message that says “hello.” To let them know that I love them.

To check in with my parents and my friend who is 84, for no reason.

To find something beautiful, or the beauty in anything.

To forgive: life, myself, those I love, and those I don’t even know.

To focus more on living and less on doing.

To just be.

That’s it.

I just needed a little reminder.

Because yesterday I woke up and it was snowing, and because it is still (just barely) National Poetry Month, and because I read through some of my old poems last night—really, really old, as in over 20-years-ago old, and because some of them made me smile and some of them made me cringe and some of them made me sing and some of them brought tears to my eyes, here is one, from the me who was me, twenty years ago.

Because I’ve spent a lot of time wondering lately, if I’m that me, or this me, or some other me that falls somewhere in between…

::

forecast (leavings).

in the needle i used
to repair your cast off laundry
i caught this brief flash
of remembrance:

you were standing
at the counter with your head
tipped back in laughter
(or what passed for laughter at the time)
and i was leaning close
to the side of you
i cherish still,
though it gets farther
away each morning.
we were young,
and vibrant,
ideal in our love and
virtuous, framed against
a backdrop of black
storm clouds.

and then i shuddered, and
moved the memory back a stitch,
and then another, and another,
until you were just a speck
on the hurricane horizon
and i was the wind
that carried you.