“I searched for the break in the fireweed, where the tromped path goes down. You wouldn’t know it, unless you knew to look for it. Just as it was, 35 years ago, but even less obvious. My kids, they’ve taken to calling it “the wedding ring” spot. Well, that’s a story for another day. How what I did ties into what others did, does not equal a whole. The ring was never found. Nor should it have been. Some relationships require a long, long period, to cleanse. You don’t just crawl back into them, and take up residence. No, it’s more like the Olympics. You might qualify again, in the future. And that’s, me, in a nutshell. I’ve learned to occupy my own, peculiar space, and suffer its slings & arrows. Those “of outrageous fortune” according to Shakespeare. Odd then, that my only memorized lines in high school drama class were these: “Happy in that we are not over-happy. On fortune’s cap, we are not the very button!”. Thanks again, William. I get it. You were right. I am not the very button. But I love. In my long hours of digging, I ride the charmed warble of the red winged blackbird on a wire. My heart still flying, as easily & swiftly, to a thrilling note, as ever. But few are here, to share my rapture. I guess, I’m easing out of this world. I guess, I’m honing in, on separation. Don’t take it personally, as I grapple, with the way certain characters have made life harder for me. Rudolph Steiner once said, poetically: “Life grows brighter around me; Life becomes harder for me; Life will be richer within me”. Sometimes those closest to you, can’t see what you’re really about. And it’s that one simple problem, I’ve had to come to terms with - from the moment I was conceived, most likely. Maybe it’s why I fought like a stubborn root against doing my taxes today, & did everything else I enjoyed more. I just wanted to be physical. I just wanted, to carry things, and sort them. I just wanted to sweep up and sanctify work space. I just wanted, to feel whole, to hammer, & saw and throw off cuts of lumber into a wheel barrow. To drag things up a hill, and shovel dirt, make pallets fit for firewood. I was blissed out, when the thunderstorm blew in, and I could keep on working, under a shed roof. Feeling the rush of wind, and the moisture filled air, and the soft, summer release, of rain. I listened to an audio book, to keep my sanity, by connecting to someone else’s human story. I knelt in wet grass, to plant daffodil bulbs, hitting roots of maple trees, and apple, slightly frustrated. I checked my messages. People coming, and going. and asking to use my space. Me not always knowing, who to trust. Feeling open to anyone in trouble, but needing to mow my lawn. To figure out how bears were getting into my garbage. Feeling protective of my tools, the few that I have. Keeping them under cover, in case of another downpour. Thinking about Val, and Bow, and Jamie, and Suz, and Nikki, Arielle, Wilder, and Michael C., and Davey. And all my new clients. And the heat, and the mood of the land. About poison ivy by the lake, & the weird state of affairs with hybridized hydrangeas. I feel best with a watering can, in my hands. You don’t want to do it, or can’t, so I will. Next winter, god willing, there’ll be songs we make, so far beyond this wall.”
