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The truth is always an abyss. One must – as in a swimming pool – dare to dive from the quivering spring board of trivial everyday experience and sink into the depths, in order to later rise again – laughing and fighting for breath – to the now doubly illuminated surface of things.
Franz Kafka
Weighted and buoyed by the preciousness of moments. They, of the unphotographable ilk. Things real and felt but not alive, flashes of memories, sensations, scents wafting, light refracting, sounds, voices, laughter.
The potent yearning for them to manifest, a gilded leaf in my palm, a fil-um scrolling, before they are lost to time and my own failings.
Like this week ago walk. Cold and soggy with mist on my nose. Hands chilled in their woolly wrappings. Shoes sloshing from overgrown puddles and a moment of inattention.
The price I dutifully pay for joy. For being alive. For love.
I don’t actually know that this is a Lady Hawk, not being an ornithologist, and all, but a creature this regal needs a title other than it. She visited for her Sunday lunch, though we didn’t see her do anything but chase off a crow.
I hope you’re having a week full of wonder. We are hosting Lori and crew this evening for a Southwestern Supper extraordinare. It is 9:55, and I’ve already baked a cake, made dough for fresh tortillas, and have a pot of green chile and pinto beans bubbling on the stove. The house smells SO good!
We’ll be here for Thanksgiving, me and my favorite sous chef making dinner together. Roasted squash ravioli with brown butter sage sauce, green beans, home made bread, crispy kale, cranberry sauce (the jellied kind, because it rocks, no matter what people say), and the hubster’s favorite pecan pie. I think there will be a fire, too, two humans and two felines cuddled in close proximity.
I hope you have a marvelous holiday and know that I’m most grateful for your gentle presence in my life.
Big Hug!
…
Update: Definitely not the same bird! The memory is not what it once was. A Sharp Shinned Hawk or juvenile Cooper’s Hawk are my best guesses. A new visitor nonetheless, huzzah!
This is what it’s looked like in our bedroom lately, all manner of lovely light, compliments of Monsieur Soleil. And as much as I am itching for the rain (Friday, they say), I sure will miss it.
How have you been? Well, I hope. The hubster and I, while cuddling in bed last night, me smelling his bearded cheek (heaven!), decided that we love our broken record life. Broken record, I say, because, at the end of every day, we say, “It was a great day!” and then cuddle and giggle and squeal (mostly me, save when I tickle him) under the covers. And it is true. Every day is a great day. Even when something shitty happens. Not like it did yesterday, but I am thinking back on other days, hard ones.
Like before my surgery and I was ALWAYS in pain. Those times when moving nearly made me retch because my insides were so very twisted, but I practiced yoga and went to the supermarket and smiled and laughed because I would not be foiled. I would not be beaten because the sun was shining, the hubster was smiling, the cats were purring, and I had friends. Or maybe a beloved song was on the hi-fi and I was dancing while the rain poured onto the pavement, and I could smell it, that scent of childhood and love.
There will always be shitty things. A nasty bruise on my arm from who knows what. Wrinkles. A migraine headache. Pain. A dirty house. Illness. A friend who doesn’t call back. A mean neighbor. But there are even better things. Love. Home. Music. Dancing. Friends. Kindness. Flowers. Plums. Cheese. Cats. Dogs. Children. Laughter. Sun. Rain. Moon. Stars. I’ve got it all, right here, right now, always.
It is a great day…
For plums grown on our own tree,
for birds bathing,
for spying the unusual,
for a clean car,
for dresses with pockets,
for furry friends,
for play dates with my favorite four-year-old,
and you…
