Sometimes I live my life in a swirl of smiles and affection--the sometimes-dreary trudge of days is highlighted for a time with shining memories or glimpses of my cousin's beautiful red hair, my best friend's smile, my best guy friend's hugs, gorgeous slanting rays of sunlight and the earth warm beneath my feet--and those are the things that matter. Those are the things I hold onto.
But other times, other days, other moments, it doesn't matter how much time I've spent with the people I love. It doesn't matter how much they love me. It doesn't matter how great I felt or didn't feel earlier in the day. The beauty of the sunset slides right off my temporal lobe and disappears into the cold river, and all I feel is bleak and alone.
Showing posts with label sunshine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sunshine. Show all posts
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Happy day-after-Easter, loveys.
I haven't really been writing anything lately, except for short little things on my cell phone which are largely about sunsets. Perhaps I'll copy them over here. I haven't decided.
This past weekend though I was in upstate New York visiting my friend Lindsey and my godson (her son) Ian and his twin sister Adrienne, for their birthdays and, incidentally, for Easter. It was tiring and also really good to see them. Also though, it was cold. And when I stepped off the plane tonight into the warm, humid Virginia air, it was almost like a religious experience. And when Jack and I drove home on the interstate with the windows down, and talked the whole time. And when I walked with Miley through the moonless night, under the quietly, constantly rustling leaves of the trees. And when I smelled the wet dirt and the little creek and the hay strewn across someone's lawn. It is emphatically spring, and I love it. I do not ever want to move to the North.
ALRIGHT. Some of the things I wrote on my cell phone notepad:
4/22--This April morning the sun rises like a rocket, drawn up by invisible strings into the low hanging clouds, from the horizon to some unseen place behind the rainswept cloud bank in a matter of minutes. Last evening I watched the spring in the treetops, the sinking sun kissing and melting through the outstretched arms of warm wood, bathing the earth in green light.
4/24--We're flying through the ethereal world between cloud layers, in a perfect palette of muted white and graded blue. Slivers and spots of light from the setting sun spread softly and quietly across the Western horizon.
And tonight (and this I did not put into my phone), we flew near a thunderstorm on our way between LaGuardia and my hometown. Though I know I look like a small child and a person who has never flown before whenever I do this, I love to press my face up against the airplane window and watch the lightning in the clouds. The clouds themselves are rather stunning--sculpted shapes of the darkest possible gray filling the sky above the city, and enormous banks of it piling up in the distance--but in the darkness they have no definition. Each lightning strike looks like a tiny sunrise, and it highlights the hidden depths of the clouds for the smallest instant. It's gorgeous.
This past weekend though I was in upstate New York visiting my friend Lindsey and my godson (her son) Ian and his twin sister Adrienne, for their birthdays and, incidentally, for Easter. It was tiring and also really good to see them. Also though, it was cold. And when I stepped off the plane tonight into the warm, humid Virginia air, it was almost like a religious experience. And when Jack and I drove home on the interstate with the windows down, and talked the whole time. And when I walked with Miley through the moonless night, under the quietly, constantly rustling leaves of the trees. And when I smelled the wet dirt and the little creek and the hay strewn across someone's lawn. It is emphatically spring, and I love it. I do not ever want to move to the North.
ALRIGHT. Some of the things I wrote on my cell phone notepad:
4/22--This April morning the sun rises like a rocket, drawn up by invisible strings into the low hanging clouds, from the horizon to some unseen place behind the rainswept cloud bank in a matter of minutes. Last evening I watched the spring in the treetops, the sinking sun kissing and melting through the outstretched arms of warm wood, bathing the earth in green light.
4/24--We're flying through the ethereal world between cloud layers, in a perfect palette of muted white and graded blue. Slivers and spots of light from the setting sun spread softly and quietly across the Western horizon.
And tonight (and this I did not put into my phone), we flew near a thunderstorm on our way between LaGuardia and my hometown. Though I know I look like a small child and a person who has never flown before whenever I do this, I love to press my face up against the airplane window and watch the lightning in the clouds. The clouds themselves are rather stunning--sculpted shapes of the darkest possible gray filling the sky above the city, and enormous banks of it piling up in the distance--but in the darkness they have no definition. Each lightning strike looks like a tiny sunrise, and it highlights the hidden depths of the clouds for the smallest instant. It's gorgeous.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Hey, it's April again.
I guess it's been a few days. Seems like forever. But yes, it's April again.
For days I've been meaning to write about the fabulous sunset I saw on the way to Kelly's house the other evening, but I have felt neither the inclination nor the obligation to put anything down, aside from the initial notes on my cell phone notepad:
The most delicate peach-pink on the softest baby blue, and the whisping clouds in front a dark, pastel lavender. The sky is the only thing that can get away with pastels, if you ask me. A spring sky, post-rain, at gloaming time. Is anything more lovely? And the moon, hanging round and full just above the colored clouds.
I've been taking a WSI class, and I've been trying to coexist with my allergies, and it's just exhausting. The class was Saturday and today, and will run tomorrow and through Wednesday, 7-8 hours each time. I still haven't found the time and motivation to read through the materials, but I'd better before Wednesday, when we're sure to have a test. Red Cross rules rightly state that a person has to score an 80% or above to receive certification, and with the money Camp is paying for this class, I really think I'd better get a certification. So.
I'm enjoying the class though. Just not the fatigue, as much.
Regarding the allergies: I woke up sometime last week with a sinus infection, which has transmuted itself into some sort of dry-and-itchy throated, sleepy, sometimes headachy cough. And my eyes itch and burn.
Sunday, Lorraine and Jr and I responded (for once) to Anna's invitation to join her in dancing at Capital Ale House downtown. It was nice. And I had thought that Lorraine and Anna would hit it off, and they did. Lovely.
I seem to have been practicing self-sabotage on POF. That's probably okay. I've managed to end most email conversations that were going on, some more intentionally than others, and none gracefully. I thought I'd made a friend, back there at the beginning, and maybe I have--but we've hardly spoken in a week or so. It annoys me a bit that a week here is an "omg what's going on" issue, when going a week or more without contacting the vast majority of my friends is barely an issue, if it even rates mention at all. But anyway, I made boundaries and let him cross them, and it dampened my enthusiasm for the relationship. And then today a person I'd thought I might meet asked (or I assume that he'd have termed "send me a picture" as "asking") for a cell phone picture of myself, and I got annoyed and refused, and he got frustrated and hasn't texted since. (This is probably for the best, as I had nearly accidentally double-booked myself for Thursday evening.) It seems to be par for the course for that place to exchange cell phone pictures, but I think it's a stupid game. I don't really have a slew of pictures of myself on my phone, for one thing, but then also, who's to say we'll ever speak again? This is barely even an acquaintance-ship. You do not need to have a picture of me on your phone. And if you're asking because you don't "trust" the pictures I've got posted already, then you're kind of an idiot. One is faked as easily as the other.
That's the second rant I've written on the subject today.
Friday morning, quite early, I fly to Saratoga Springs to see Adrienne and Ian on their birthday. I'll be back Sunday, and Wednesday I'll be leaving for Lafayette, and will return Monday. Friday, or possibly Saturday morning, I'll be driving (or riding along) to Knoxville, to return Sunday. The following Friday, Saturday, and Sunday I'll be participating in a lifeguard training session taught by my friend Art, husband of Camp's director (friend Beth). The weekend after that I'll be house sitting for Sara's family, and do you want to know what's going on the weekend after that?
NOT A DAMN THING.
For days I've been meaning to write about the fabulous sunset I saw on the way to Kelly's house the other evening, but I have felt neither the inclination nor the obligation to put anything down, aside from the initial notes on my cell phone notepad:
The most delicate peach-pink on the softest baby blue, and the whisping clouds in front a dark, pastel lavender. The sky is the only thing that can get away with pastels, if you ask me. A spring sky, post-rain, at gloaming time. Is anything more lovely? And the moon, hanging round and full just above the colored clouds.
I've been taking a WSI class, and I've been trying to coexist with my allergies, and it's just exhausting. The class was Saturday and today, and will run tomorrow and through Wednesday, 7-8 hours each time. I still haven't found the time and motivation to read through the materials, but I'd better before Wednesday, when we're sure to have a test. Red Cross rules rightly state that a person has to score an 80% or above to receive certification, and with the money Camp is paying for this class, I really think I'd better get a certification. So.
I'm enjoying the class though. Just not the fatigue, as much.
Regarding the allergies: I woke up sometime last week with a sinus infection, which has transmuted itself into some sort of dry-and-itchy throated, sleepy, sometimes headachy cough. And my eyes itch and burn.
Sunday, Lorraine and Jr and I responded (for once) to Anna's invitation to join her in dancing at Capital Ale House downtown. It was nice. And I had thought that Lorraine and Anna would hit it off, and they did. Lovely.
I seem to have been practicing self-sabotage on POF. That's probably okay. I've managed to end most email conversations that were going on, some more intentionally than others, and none gracefully. I thought I'd made a friend, back there at the beginning, and maybe I have--but we've hardly spoken in a week or so. It annoys me a bit that a week here is an "omg what's going on" issue, when going a week or more without contacting the vast majority of my friends is barely an issue, if it even rates mention at all. But anyway, I made boundaries and let him cross them, and it dampened my enthusiasm for the relationship. And then today a person I'd thought I might meet asked (or I assume that he'd have termed "send me a picture" as "asking") for a cell phone picture of myself, and I got annoyed and refused, and he got frustrated and hasn't texted since. (This is probably for the best, as I had nearly accidentally double-booked myself for Thursday evening.) It seems to be par for the course for that place to exchange cell phone pictures, but I think it's a stupid game. I don't really have a slew of pictures of myself on my phone, for one thing, but then also, who's to say we'll ever speak again? This is barely even an acquaintance-ship. You do not need to have a picture of me on your phone. And if you're asking because you don't "trust" the pictures I've got posted already, then you're kind of an idiot. One is faked as easily as the other.
That's the second rant I've written on the subject today.
Friday morning, quite early, I fly to Saratoga Springs to see Adrienne and Ian on their birthday. I'll be back Sunday, and Wednesday I'll be leaving for Lafayette, and will return Monday. Friday, or possibly Saturday morning, I'll be driving (or riding along) to Knoxville, to return Sunday. The following Friday, Saturday, and Sunday I'll be participating in a lifeguard training session taught by my friend Art, husband of Camp's director (friend Beth). The weekend after that I'll be house sitting for Sara's family, and do you want to know what's going on the weekend after that?
NOT A DAMN THING.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Camp.
I'm surprisingly tired tonight, and I'm babysitting so I can't sleep and can't do much of anything else either, and it seems like I've been jumping from one topic to another in my mind. Being bored. Being upset about Marcus. Being upset with Marcus. Missing David. Missing R-MA. And now, missing Camp. So much. I miss the greenness and the water. The tall trees standing so close together, and the dusty gravel on cabin row, and the cool stream running straight through the middle of Camp, always ready and waiting to cool feet, to rinse caving clothes, to facilitate a swimming lesson, to host an Alkulana Challenge, to act as a meditation garden for a midnight swim. And the sound of the creek is omnipresent, and the green of the trees is everywhere. At lunch in the dining hall, you can look up at the ceiling and see the sunlight reflected off of the creek below. And the water is so clear that you can stand on the bridge and look down and watch the fish swimming over the rocks, and the crayfish moving cautiously through the pebbles. I miss the blackberries that grow in the patches of sunlight that fall onto the path back toward little lodge, and I miss the rope swings and the bullfrogs calling and the canoe trips more than I can say. I love sleeping every night with nothing more than a screen between me and the night air, with the moon shining down onto my face, and the water music floating up the hillside, and the night breeze blowing through the trees above the roof, and the sweet sounds of children sleeping a few feet away. I miss the slamming of screen doors, and I miss pulling on muddy jeans and tennis shoes for caving, and I miss rushing to get the kids ready for their next adventure. I miss the bats in the night sky, and the sun setting over Jenny's little garden. I miss the rocking chair on Beth's porch, and I miss being able to walk down to the water with a bathing suit and a floatable bar of Ivory soap and just take a bath, if the showers were full. I miss morning and evening staff meetings--I miss working with such wonderful people, and planning such great things for the kids. I miss paddling a canoe and singing Disney songs with Ryan at Lake Moomaw, and I miss swimming in the lake. I miss swimming in any lake--now Ouachita.
This past summer was so hot that the water in that lake felt like a bath, so we'd take deep breaths and drop down as deep as we could stand, just savoring the only taste of coolness we'd be able to find for hours. I miss the nights we stayed up for hours and hours playing Texas Hold'em, whether in the cabin or at a concrete picnic table by the water. I miss lying in my hammock in the hot summer shade. I miss the night I spent on the air mattress next to Chloe, and us next to Lenny and Larry and Ryan and Zyrone and Zorrell and Kim and Meghan, all sleeping quietly but me. Once I gave up on the idea of sleep it was beautiful to just lie back and listen to the thunder from across the lake, and watch the lightning flash. It was the only dawn I've ever watched all the way through. I've said before that dawns are not like sunsets, and it's true. We all know sunsets, I hope, but dawn seems so much slower. The moon sets, and midnight's bright stars begin to go out, one by one. Soon the darkness seems less complete. The tree shapes blur, then sharpen against the sky, and color slowly seeps back into the world. Then you blink, and realize that the sky is bluer, and that the East is lightening slowly. Once this happens, regardless of whether the sun has actually risen above the horizon, it's soon bright enough to be called day. On that morning, Pup came out and looked over his field of sleeping grandchildren with pride and satisfaction, and took a picture with a disposable camera. I heard the click and crank of the plastic. I love that man.
And after I got up, I walked down to the water for a goodbye swim, and a high, complete rainbow arced over the lake, delicate and perfect.
I miss the green and blue and brightness of it all. I miss the warmth and the wetness. I am ready for summertime.
This past summer was so hot that the water in that lake felt like a bath, so we'd take deep breaths and drop down as deep as we could stand, just savoring the only taste of coolness we'd be able to find for hours. I miss the nights we stayed up for hours and hours playing Texas Hold'em, whether in the cabin or at a concrete picnic table by the water. I miss lying in my hammock in the hot summer shade. I miss the night I spent on the air mattress next to Chloe, and us next to Lenny and Larry and Ryan and Zyrone and Zorrell and Kim and Meghan, all sleeping quietly but me. Once I gave up on the idea of sleep it was beautiful to just lie back and listen to the thunder from across the lake, and watch the lightning flash. It was the only dawn I've ever watched all the way through. I've said before that dawns are not like sunsets, and it's true. We all know sunsets, I hope, but dawn seems so much slower. The moon sets, and midnight's bright stars begin to go out, one by one. Soon the darkness seems less complete. The tree shapes blur, then sharpen against the sky, and color slowly seeps back into the world. Then you blink, and realize that the sky is bluer, and that the East is lightening slowly. Once this happens, regardless of whether the sun has actually risen above the horizon, it's soon bright enough to be called day. On that morning, Pup came out and looked over his field of sleeping grandchildren with pride and satisfaction, and took a picture with a disposable camera. I heard the click and crank of the plastic. I love that man.
And after I got up, I walked down to the water for a goodbye swim, and a high, complete rainbow arced over the lake, delicate and perfect.
I miss the green and blue and brightness of it all. I miss the warmth and the wetness. I am ready for summertime.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
These things happen, I guess.
This week I've dreamed about ghosts and dead bodies. Last night I became so infuriated (set off by Miley, but it couldn't have all been about her) that I had a complete meltdown. My mother woke up because I had been driven from my bed and was huddled in the middle of the living room floor, weeping with rage and frustration. Having woken her up made me feel like such an infant, but I was glad to have someone awake nearby who wasn't insane with anger.
I just don't deal with anger and frustration. I try to, but what I often end up doing is convincing myself that they don't exist and then stuffing them away. I don't know how to do it differently. And bedtime is a crappy time for me anyway, because so often I can't fall asleep, and then I sleep too long. I love actually sleeping, but the beginning and the end of it are the worst.
So I get stressed out at bedtime, especially when I've had a run of rough nights, which I have. And I get frustrated about walking this dog that isn't even mine, especially when my brother keeps switching the times around, which he has. And God knows what else it was about. But I was on the edge when I got into bed, and then.
And then I realized that there was pee in my bed.
Here's something to know about me: if I am asleep or trying to sleep or just waking up, I will try to sleep through anything. In Zimbabwe I tried to stay asleep when there were ants swarming all over my face and upper body, until I woke up enough to convince myself that that was a completely insane idea. So. Pee.
I tried to sleep on the other side of the bed. But I couldn't sleep. I've been a bit of an insomniac lately anyway, and I was too angry to fall asleep. Probably within minutes I was shaking with rage and trying to tear apart the sweatshirt that I was wearing.
Obviously the answer here would be to kick the dog out of my bed (she was in my bed! What was I thinking? I have a completely irrational and inexplicable guilt complex when it comes to dogs.) and change the sheets, but once I've committed myself to going to bed, for some reason I have this stubborn attachment to not getting up again. Maybe this is because I'm already so restless at night that I'm afraid I'd truly never sleep if I let myself get up and do things after I had gone to bed. Anyway, after a while (an hour? Hour and a half? Half hour?) I threw myself out of bed and stormed into the living room, struggling not to tear the house apart or grab the dog by her hind legs and swing her into a wall.
This is why it is a really good idea to learn to actually manage your anger. I am aware that I am painting myself here like a completely insane person--but I'm not. I get this angry, oh, maybe once a year. I hate being angry, so, generally, I don't get angry. People actually comment sometimes on how ridiculously patient I am. And that's how I want to be, and that's how I am the vast majority of the time. But every once in a while circumstances all collude and catch me when I'm exhausted and stressed and hormonal and all the sudden I'm sitting on my hands on the edge of the tub, grinding my teeth, shaking with rage, trying not to speak or rip the toilet seat cover from its hinges and smash the bathroom with it.
I've never broken anything or hurt anyone in anger, by the way. I think the worst I've ever done is kicked my closet door or thrown a shoe at it. I just apparently have not learned to notice the steam rising and vent it before I pass the point of no return. And like many people, my family is my weakness here. There are wonderful things about family, but no one can find and push all of your buttons the way they can. Last night it was like I was an elevator, and they walked in and just wiped their hands straight down the button panel and watched every single one light up.
I've mentioned before that I sometimes dream of having a soundproof room just for me, with blank walls and filled with breakable objects for me to throw at them or rip apart. This goes back to my being an INTP/INFP, and how we INT/FPs, though we feel deeply, tend to be extremely reticent when it comes to showing emotion. Or registering emotion, in my case. Anyway, the anger vent room fantasy:
I went to bed early tonight (9pm!) and set an alarm to get up at 11 and walk the dog. While I was dozing I had a dream that someone kept bringing things into the walkway outside my door and smashing them or ripping them apart and leaving them strewn all over the ground--pyrex dishes, furniture, and so on. Maybe my subconscious is telling me something.
Writing all this down makes me want to apologize. Anger of that magnitude is such a terrible thing, and it twists everything in its path and leaves me so shaken. I got out of bed today a little after one (I couldn't fall asleep until about six am) and I felt like an invalid recovering from a horrible illness. I felt pale and fragile and quiet. We went to the park today with Miley, and that helped some. The air helped, and the calm water and the quiet park, and the sun gilding the bare branches and vines as it slipped down into the cold grey river.
I just don't deal with anger and frustration. I try to, but what I often end up doing is convincing myself that they don't exist and then stuffing them away. I don't know how to do it differently. And bedtime is a crappy time for me anyway, because so often I can't fall asleep, and then I sleep too long. I love actually sleeping, but the beginning and the end of it are the worst.
So I get stressed out at bedtime, especially when I've had a run of rough nights, which I have. And I get frustrated about walking this dog that isn't even mine, especially when my brother keeps switching the times around, which he has. And God knows what else it was about. But I was on the edge when I got into bed, and then.
And then I realized that there was pee in my bed.
Here's something to know about me: if I am asleep or trying to sleep or just waking up, I will try to sleep through anything. In Zimbabwe I tried to stay asleep when there were ants swarming all over my face and upper body, until I woke up enough to convince myself that that was a completely insane idea. So. Pee.
I tried to sleep on the other side of the bed. But I couldn't sleep. I've been a bit of an insomniac lately anyway, and I was too angry to fall asleep. Probably within minutes I was shaking with rage and trying to tear apart the sweatshirt that I was wearing.
Obviously the answer here would be to kick the dog out of my bed (she was in my bed! What was I thinking? I have a completely irrational and inexplicable guilt complex when it comes to dogs.) and change the sheets, but once I've committed myself to going to bed, for some reason I have this stubborn attachment to not getting up again. Maybe this is because I'm already so restless at night that I'm afraid I'd truly never sleep if I let myself get up and do things after I had gone to bed. Anyway, after a while (an hour? Hour and a half? Half hour?) I threw myself out of bed and stormed into the living room, struggling not to tear the house apart or grab the dog by her hind legs and swing her into a wall.
This is why it is a really good idea to learn to actually manage your anger. I am aware that I am painting myself here like a completely insane person--but I'm not. I get this angry, oh, maybe once a year. I hate being angry, so, generally, I don't get angry. People actually comment sometimes on how ridiculously patient I am. And that's how I want to be, and that's how I am the vast majority of the time. But every once in a while circumstances all collude and catch me when I'm exhausted and stressed and hormonal and all the sudden I'm sitting on my hands on the edge of the tub, grinding my teeth, shaking with rage, trying not to speak or rip the toilet seat cover from its hinges and smash the bathroom with it.
I've never broken anything or hurt anyone in anger, by the way. I think the worst I've ever done is kicked my closet door or thrown a shoe at it. I just apparently have not learned to notice the steam rising and vent it before I pass the point of no return. And like many people, my family is my weakness here. There are wonderful things about family, but no one can find and push all of your buttons the way they can. Last night it was like I was an elevator, and they walked in and just wiped their hands straight down the button panel and watched every single one light up.
I've mentioned before that I sometimes dream of having a soundproof room just for me, with blank walls and filled with breakable objects for me to throw at them or rip apart. This goes back to my being an INTP/INFP, and how we INT/FPs, though we feel deeply, tend to be extremely reticent when it comes to showing emotion. Or registering emotion, in my case. Anyway, the anger vent room fantasy:
I went to bed early tonight (9pm!) and set an alarm to get up at 11 and walk the dog. While I was dozing I had a dream that someone kept bringing things into the walkway outside my door and smashing them or ripping them apart and leaving them strewn all over the ground--pyrex dishes, furniture, and so on. Maybe my subconscious is telling me something.
Writing all this down makes me want to apologize. Anger of that magnitude is such a terrible thing, and it twists everything in its path and leaves me so shaken. I got out of bed today a little after one (I couldn't fall asleep until about six am) and I felt like an invalid recovering from a horrible illness. I felt pale and fragile and quiet. We went to the park today with Miley, and that helped some. The air helped, and the calm water and the quiet park, and the sun gilding the bare branches and vines as it slipped down into the cold grey river.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
On a clear day.
The weather outside was lovely today.
In the early afternoon, WNRN kept playing songs that reminded me of David's younger brother, which of course eventually led me to thinking about David. And melancholy began to seep. I began by thinking about how we haven't talked in so long, and wondering whose idea that was (mine) and wondering whether it was still necessary (probably). Thinking maybe we should have lunch. Then thinking that this was another day we should have spent up on Skyline. Then I started to notice that I was hitting the point where these things all begin to pile up, and I dropped it, and I went to read outside instead.
I took my book out and sat on the front porch in a camping chair (and snuggie--it wasn't that warm), and breathed in the evening.
Actually, though I regret this now, I didn't think to think much* about breathing. Instead I watched the wind forcefully push through the tall trees on our street, and watched them bend and sway against the sky. I love the way the setting sun slides through the scenery, highlighting every branch and leaf and bent stem. I love the way it sinks down so quickly, but never seems to be moving. A squirrel ran up and then down a tree trunk, right between me and the sunset, silhouetted against the sky.
I love watching the day deepen into night. I want to say I can't get enough of it, but judging from the fact that I came in before full dark, I guess I can. Sunsets are indescribably beautiful to me, but just as the dawn begins long before sunrise, the dusk falls long after sunset. They are so, so beautiful to see, but not necessarily so interesting to sit and stare at for an hour and a half.
I am reminded of something I saw one afternoon as I left the apartment where I've been painting. I marveled at it at the time, as I do with many things, but I think I forgot to write about it. I guess it was nothing, really, but a flock of birds bathing in a roadside puddle. Still, I was entranced. They went in shifts: a group of them, a third of the flock, splashed and fluttered for a few moments in a puddle where an alley met the roadside, then all at once they flew up at an angle across the street. As they did so, another third of the flock flew down from the trees above and into the puddle. At the same time, another third flew from across the street into the newly vacated trees. They kept on like this in continuous rotation, beginning before I came outside, continuing through the minutes that I watched them, and ending sometime after I left. I am not usually very enthusiastic about birds as pets**, but I love to watch them and listen to them call to one another. I don't know how to describe the way I feel about them. I think I've mentioned it before though, particularly with reference to starlings. Though I've never had the chance, I feel like I could watch a flock of starlings fly for hours.
*This is not a typo.
**Individually, they are far too reptilian for me. Obviously they don't look particularly reptilian, and I hasten to say that I have nothing against reptiles as a species--I used to be somewhat obsessive in my regard for them--but I realized somewhere along the line that they are not mammals. That is, reptiles, and birds, possess the reptilian brain and (generally speaking) not much else. Mammals have more highly developed brains, and more highly developed emotions. A reptile is not going to bond with you or be emotionally interesting, or interested, the way a mammal will. Birds have higher faculties in this area than reptiles, but still not on the order of even a rat, in my experience.
In the early afternoon, WNRN kept playing songs that reminded me of David's younger brother, which of course eventually led me to thinking about David. And melancholy began to seep. I began by thinking about how we haven't talked in so long, and wondering whose idea that was (mine) and wondering whether it was still necessary (probably). Thinking maybe we should have lunch. Then thinking that this was another day we should have spent up on Skyline. Then I started to notice that I was hitting the point where these things all begin to pile up, and I dropped it, and I went to read outside instead.
I took my book out and sat on the front porch in a camping chair (and snuggie--it wasn't that warm), and breathed in the evening.
Actually, though I regret this now, I didn't think to think much* about breathing. Instead I watched the wind forcefully push through the tall trees on our street, and watched them bend and sway against the sky. I love the way the setting sun slides through the scenery, highlighting every branch and leaf and bent stem. I love the way it sinks down so quickly, but never seems to be moving. A squirrel ran up and then down a tree trunk, right between me and the sunset, silhouetted against the sky.
I love watching the day deepen into night. I want to say I can't get enough of it, but judging from the fact that I came in before full dark, I guess I can. Sunsets are indescribably beautiful to me, but just as the dawn begins long before sunrise, the dusk falls long after sunset. They are so, so beautiful to see, but not necessarily so interesting to sit and stare at for an hour and a half.
I am reminded of something I saw one afternoon as I left the apartment where I've been painting. I marveled at it at the time, as I do with many things, but I think I forgot to write about it. I guess it was nothing, really, but a flock of birds bathing in a roadside puddle. Still, I was entranced. They went in shifts: a group of them, a third of the flock, splashed and fluttered for a few moments in a puddle where an alley met the roadside, then all at once they flew up at an angle across the street. As they did so, another third of the flock flew down from the trees above and into the puddle. At the same time, another third flew from across the street into the newly vacated trees. They kept on like this in continuous rotation, beginning before I came outside, continuing through the minutes that I watched them, and ending sometime after I left. I am not usually very enthusiastic about birds as pets**, but I love to watch them and listen to them call to one another. I don't know how to describe the way I feel about them. I think I've mentioned it before though, particularly with reference to starlings. Though I've never had the chance, I feel like I could watch a flock of starlings fly for hours.
*This is not a typo.
**Individually, they are far too reptilian for me. Obviously they don't look particularly reptilian, and I hasten to say that I have nothing against reptiles as a species--I used to be somewhat obsessive in my regard for them--but I realized somewhere along the line that they are not mammals. That is, reptiles, and birds, possess the reptilian brain and (generally speaking) not much else. Mammals have more highly developed brains, and more highly developed emotions. A reptile is not going to bond with you or be emotionally interesting, or interested, the way a mammal will. Birds have higher faculties in this area than reptiles, but still not on the order of even a rat, in my experience.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Fabulousness of fall
Sometimes alliteration just happens, okay? Don't hate.
I love so much when the wind blows through the trees on a fall day, and a golden shower of leaves falls slantwise through the air. Bonus points if there's a sunbeam involved, which there usually is. Mmm.
Also, I was reminded this morning, as I am every time I am awake in the morning (which, admittedly, is shamefully rare), that morning light is its own ethereal, inexplicable, unspeakably beautiful beast. I was lucky enough to have to stop for traffic as I crossed the bridge this morning (I am not being sarcastic) and had the extremely rare opportunity to sit for a brief moment on the bridge and watch the morning sunlight slanting through the changing trees. It was gorgeous. A few hundred yards down the road it shone through a fountain, and I don't even know what to say about it. Beautiful.
And you'd think that sunrise would be pretty much the same as sunset, only backwards and on the other side of the house, but it isn't. Why isn't it? In both cases we're getting the sunlight at a steeper angle--the only difference is rising vs. falling. Is it the air temperature? Is it just that the air is less smoggy in the morning, or that the morning sun gets to dance through the fallen dew, whereas the evening sun has already burned it off? I'm really not sure, but I'm having that oh-so-American urge to say that I wish I could bottle the sunrise and morning light. I suppose I don't really, because it wouldn't be great anymore, then--only ordinary. But wouldn't it be glorious for a moment? Forget that it would be ruined forever after, and that its every-morning glory would be sacrificed for the sake of that once-glorious bottle.
Okay, don't forget. I love the sunrise.
I love so much when the wind blows through the trees on a fall day, and a golden shower of leaves falls slantwise through the air. Bonus points if there's a sunbeam involved, which there usually is. Mmm.
Also, I was reminded this morning, as I am every time I am awake in the morning (which, admittedly, is shamefully rare), that morning light is its own ethereal, inexplicable, unspeakably beautiful beast. I was lucky enough to have to stop for traffic as I crossed the bridge this morning (I am not being sarcastic) and had the extremely rare opportunity to sit for a brief moment on the bridge and watch the morning sunlight slanting through the changing trees. It was gorgeous. A few hundred yards down the road it shone through a fountain, and I don't even know what to say about it. Beautiful.
And you'd think that sunrise would be pretty much the same as sunset, only backwards and on the other side of the house, but it isn't. Why isn't it? In both cases we're getting the sunlight at a steeper angle--the only difference is rising vs. falling. Is it the air temperature? Is it just that the air is less smoggy in the morning, or that the morning sun gets to dance through the fallen dew, whereas the evening sun has already burned it off? I'm really not sure, but I'm having that oh-so-American urge to say that I wish I could bottle the sunrise and morning light. I suppose I don't really, because it wouldn't be great anymore, then--only ordinary. But wouldn't it be glorious for a moment? Forget that it would be ruined forever after, and that its every-morning glory would be sacrificed for the sake of that once-glorious bottle.
Okay, don't forget. I love the sunrise.
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