Cloudy & Cool
“The day was cloudy & cool: a respite from recent sweat shop conditions not necessarily normal for late September, but not unheard of. My truck’s gas tank was low, and in oddly synchronous support, my work vehicle also decided to quit. I decided, however, to repel annoyance, continuing to work, uninterrupted. There are always solutions, if you can stay calm. This applies equally, to relationships, and personal snags, that seem to come out of the blue. There is so much people don’t say, which can compound, and make incomprehensible, the simplest of situations. What I would give, to have more information, and more time to unravel the complexities of what is around me. But short of being let in, I must proceed and move forward, despite being fenced out. The plants are my guide. An entrenched group of Siberian Iris hiding hundreds of violets, a weakened Spirea shrub languishing under the shadow of invading Lamb’s ear roots, a Peony hiding mountains of daffodil bulbs lurking below. The subtle competitions that underlie each botanical interaction, become clearer, as I crouch, and dig, and attempt to separate, with my undivided attention, paying tribute to the survival instinct, of every being that bangs to be uncovered, and respected. In the garage, a robin caught behind a stack of firewood, refuses to collaborate. Moving things only drives her to further entrapment. I don’t know exactly what my role is, but I give it my best effort. By 6:30 pm, I’m exhausted, still trying to help. But letting go is often the only refuge. I decide to take my camera, to shoot the hot pink, of a late blooming Alma Potshke aster. I’m alone as the waning, autumn light turns over into darkness. That’s it and I’m done. I still have enough gs to get to the filling station, and the extra fuel I need, to bring me home. The glow of the last hour, before rural stores close, is my saving grace. I have to consider so many things, to succeed in what is surely becoming, an arcane art. Call it caring too much, or doing too much hand work, but call it what you will, it is an occupation worth preserving. In the morning, I’d dripped coffee creamer from a leaky carafe, onto the grubby floor rug at the local general store. The cashier doing double duty had graciously remarked that the cleaning company would take care of it. But in a perfect world, I would like to take care of all the messes I create. In fact, it’s mostly what I do. Creation is messy, especially what is done innocently, as an act of hope. Why wouldn’t I prefer to wield my own mop, if only I were given the chance to? There is nothing wonderful about clumsily leaving a trail of footprints, for others to wipe clean. How much nicer it is, to lay a pathway of inspired delight.”