Wind Symphony

DSCN1065On my way to the bench, I was bent over taking pictures of the pine needles scattered in an exquisite pattern like Chinese calligraphy on the sidewalk when a woman approached wearing a Coca Cola shirt.  “The world is so beautiful–sometimes I wish I could take pictures all the time, but I don’t have a camera with me, and you DO!” she effused.

I sat down to knit.  I was feeling smug, holier than the pope.  Suddenly, I got something stuck in my nose and started sneezing.  My nose ran, and a tiny seed husk came out, and I was cured of all smugness.  I would much rather stay humble (close to the ground) than be humiliated.  Humble from humus = earth.

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My internal DJ started out the hour with “Just as I am Without a Plea” followed by “Electric Slide.”  This DJ has eclectic tastes ranging from Appalachian hymns to 90’s butt rock.  With such a noisy mind, who needs an ipod?!

The wind played with my hair today, blowing it sideways across my face.  I listened the wind’s instruments–the roaring of the trees behind me like a gale blowing over the ocean.  The silvery rustling of poplar leaves.  Flat, deciduous leaves work best.  No sound came from the doug firs.  The doctor’s fountain was turned off.

R. said hi, and exchanged a flat “how are you?” with me.  It’s the kind of exchange that leaves me thirsty for a meaningful connection, a true exchange.  I’m not sure if he wants that, or if he is capable of it right now with his wife being so sick.  The mystery of another’s freedom.  Sometimes one can break through the rote script by inserting surprise, the unexpected honesty.  How are you?  Don’t say the obvious (I’m well, I’m good.)  I’m terrible, exhausted, excited, curious, surprised, 99% perfect, peachy, phenomenal.  I don’t want to push it.

“And what are you making?”

“A rope to the water.”

“And why are you doing this?”

“To connect myself to the ocean.”

“Got it.”  With a thumbs up and a smile, she drives off with her mother.

I’m left wondering, did she really “get it”?

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