dive

A pet pastime of mine -- contemplating the alternate universe(s).  I have stood at the edge of water and seen, not the reflection of the sky, but the possibility of other worlds.  Recalling a much younger fascination with riding my bicycle, ever so slowly, through still puddles, I wrote, "step into a pool, fall into the sky" -- but what I really meant is that, standing right here at the water's edge, I still feel improbably close to a mystery that is just beyond my reach.  Those who labor to prove this to be true are my heroes.  

Remember the world
Living in the half
That you cannot see...

How I want that mystery
Let me dive 'til I believe

hold

How much of the present can you hold? 

From this morning -- Aurora...

Aurora now had left her saffron bed,

And beams of early light the heav'ns o'erspread,

When, from a tow'r, the queen, with wakeful eyes,

Saw day point upward from the rosy skies.

--Virgil, The Aeneid

...and this afternoon, Sol.  

 

plum and hush

eventide slipped in

laboring with tenderness

fruiting plum and hush

into the rain

I stared into the downpour through the window of my car and felt a bit like I was jumping from the high dive, but you can only think about it for so long and then it's time to get on with it.  I don't back down.  I fling open the car door and take off into the rain.

There is something rebellious about being out in the rain.  On purpose.  To play.  Adults just don't.  Umbrellas help us hurry from cover to cover and we don't, as a rule, like to get wet.  The sheer act of willing myself into the rain was alone exhilirating but the childish joy of dashing about -- not caring that I  was drenched through and through -- was bliss.  My limbs and lungs ... and heart moved at a pace I did not think about.  Barely noticing my burning legs and ragged breath, I could not even tell you where my head went.   

This rain is different from the spring rain.  It falls cold but does not seem cold because the ground is still warm from a thousand and more hours of the summer sun.  It smells different but no less sweet.  

The shower passed as I ran.  From hilltops I caught glimpses of the curtain of grey moving across the sky -- trailing fingers of fringe through the horizon as it made its way.  I thought it was like the tide moving out, but instead of shells, it left swads of mushrooms and a litter of freshly fallen leaves in its wake.

balancing

"How do you balance?"...

Balanced Rock, Arches National Park   July 2010

...It was not an easy question to answer.  When he balanced, his whole body was a thought.  He'd never put the balancing into words before... "Say you have a dream ... in that dream you know that you are dreaming.  If you become too aware of knowing you are dreaming, you wake up.  But if you are just enough aware, you can influence your dream."

The Master Butchers Singing Club -- Louise Erdrich

go...

Degas, The Breakfast, 1885

I have been planning to visit the art museum today.  It was by happy accident that I discovered today is Smithsonian Museum Day and admission is free -- at a fabulously long list of institutions -- with these tickets.

Bring a friend.  Who knows?  Maybe I'll see you there.

a low pressure system has stalled

 -- says my jym ganahl fanatic mother last night.  and that just about sums it up.  weather stalls -- no wind for the sails.  all you can do is wait it out ...

 serenity is not about good days or bad days.  it's just how you are regardless, right?

For the record:  There was some movement this afternoon-- including an appearance by the sun and a bit of breeze -- a farewell bid to summer.  It's not supposed to last for long -- rain again for a few days, according to my source.  Planning some serious serenity-invoking actitvities.

i'm holding out

And nothing comforts me the same

As my brave friend who says,
"I don't care if forever never comes"

escape

So these were my favorite images from this afternoon's escape.  I loaded them to a draft earlier this evening but saved the rest of the project for later.  So here it is later, and the funny thing is, I didn't realize how these photos might seem as if they had been taken from different places ... as if I might have traveled much farther than the scant miles that I covered.  

The clouds hung on till sunset today and for the most part there were only glimpses of the blue beyond.  Still, there was just enough of a break in the grey for the sun's rays to cut the haze.  It was good to get away.

it's later than...

Last night:  We are multi-taskers, coming in late from practices and meetings and dining while working and catching up.  Will, with a fork in one hand and his homework in the other, looks at the clock and declares "it's not as early as we think it is."  

Well then, there, now, Socrates...   

So this morning I hugged him as I was leaving for work and felt his hand pat my shoulder.  I was swept immediately to another time, another place, same boy, just much smaller.  He fit on my hip, his face nestled perfectly in the crook of my neck and -- one of the sweetest things i've ever known -- his little, little hand patted my shoulder.

All day, I am thinking, "it's later than you think" -- and so it is.  I believe the point is:  Enjoy.

For the record:  The asters were summoned into bloom, apparently by the crisp night temperatures.  Pawpaws (and if you are in the area) are fragrant, if not quite soft.  Forest floor is littered with nutshells.  Walnut, hickory, beech and acorn -- squirrels are busy.  Ironweed and goldenrod ... grasshopppers ... puffballs and late summer/early fall fungi.  The green continues to hold it's own but I'm wagering that photosynthesis is pretty much over for the deciduous and within the week we'll see the telltale signs.

seeking notan

rise

Painted sunrise, brush strokes sweeping from horizon to horizon.  The waning moon seems beleaguered by the majesty.  And I swear last night's chill lifted a layer of green from the leaves.

ego business

So I've been reading this book on willpower and it seems I've had the sort of day that results in some severe "ego depletion."  I haven't gotten far enough into the book to determine how I can summon the strength to replenish my ego in a more constructive way so for now I'm making apple pie...

and since no one is home I am cranking this up and jumping around the house like Tom Cruise in Risky Business (well almost -- if Tom Cruise had been wearing yoga pants and my husband's sweatshirt...).  I know, I know -- yoga pants, rock 'n' roll AND apple pie.  It's getting a little out of hand here.

the record

before sunrise:

gold eyes glittering in tall grass at the road's edge
bats making haste for attics and lofts
trees silhouetted in a tide of fog and the pending light of day

under the category of ...

just for fun

accidental sunset

Through multiple errors and twists of fate, I happened to find myself here -- and it was an accident.  It started yesterday with hasty rearrangements to accomodate the overlooked and the almost never does, but actually is going to happen kind of stuff...  I'm a girl who likes routine so it's way too early in the season for me to be catching a sunset on my run, but here it is.  It could just as easily have been raining, or I could have remembered the other places I was supposed to be...

harvest moon at dawn

monday

I'll be dicing celery and potatoes but thinking of the poets...

The birds are in their trees,
the toast is in the toaster,
and the poets are at their windows.
They are at their windows
in every section of the tangerine of earth-
the Chinese poets looking up at the moon,
the American poets gazing out
at the pink and blue ribbons of sunrise.
The clerks are at their desks,
the miners are down in their mines,
and the poets are looking out their windows
maybe with a cigarette, a cup of tea,
and maybe a flannel shirt or bathrobe is involved.
The proofreaders are playing the ping-pong
game of proofreading,
glancing back and forth from page to page,
the chefs are dicing celery and potatoes,
and the poets are at their windows
because it is their job for which
they are paid nothing every Friday afternoon.
Which window it hardly seems to matter
though many have a favorite,
for there is always something to see-
a bird grasping a thin branch,
the headlights of a taxi rounding a corner,
those two boys in wool caps angling across the street.
The fishermen bob in their boats,
the linemen climb their round poles,
the barbers wait by their mirrors and chairs,
and the poets continue to stare
at the cracked birdbath or a limb knocked down by the wind.
By now, it should go without saying
that what the oven is to the baker
and the berry-stained blouse to the dry cleaner,
so the window is to the poet.
Just think-
before the invention of the window,
the poets would have had to put on a jacket
and a winter hat to go outside
or remain indoors with only a wall to stare at.
And when I say a wall,
I do not mean a wall with striped wallpaper
and a sketch of a cow in a frame.
I mean a cold wall of fieldstones,
the wall of the medieval sonnet,
the original woman's heart of stone,
the stone caught in the throat of her poet-lover.

-Billy Collins

window

a worthy frame for the infinite

rising

From the county roads this morning...

... just got this message from my friend "what a beautiful morning" -- amen lil sista!

five senses friday

I have wanted to accept this invitation from abby try again for a while so here goes...

Seeing:  Fog and fog-catcher

Tasting:  My students' work today.  Our lesson was the "stir-fry" method and they made beautiful broccoli beef worthy of any plate and palate.  Wish I had a photo.

Smelling: Pine and fresh-cut grass

Hearing:  Classical opera kick -- a student walked into my office before class this morning, stopped dead in her tracks and said "what's that noise?"  --  and it was opera for a good part of my run today.  I caught up with this crowing though -- (with a little back-up from the locals)

Feeling:  Priveleged that I have an opportunity to teach, nourish and serve.  Grateful for all who inspire me to do my best and make the most of each moment.  Satisfied that I caught most of what the sun had to give today.  Anticipation -- the weekend...