Archive for April, 2008
Yesterday my friend Tina said I needed to get my feet doted upon, also known as a pedicure. I did this once before in my life with the same friend, two years ago. She does it all the time, so she casually tosses herself into the chair and lets the lady work her feet over. Not me. I watch every movement. Tina works the motor on the vibrating chair like a pro. I look a bit like it’s torture. Tina picks out a color easily knowing that in three weeks she’ll get a new one. Not me. I select the color, pondering the significance of it all like the poet I am.
This time, I decided to get the nails done in the color of the poppies I so love. I figure the poppies and I have a lot in common: we’re both lovers of frilly skirts, the color orange, and we both have this incredibly fragile, vulnerable part of us, but we hang on inspite of anything. We make people smile, we dance a lot, we need our time to close up and rest. We are so open to the mighty forces of life. Dogs like us. We like a home base. So there you have it. Debi celebrating poppies now 24 hours a day, on her feet.
My field has been sold. See the sold sign? I hate this. I hear it’s going to turn into a retirement complex or something. Whatever. It won’t be the place I’ve loved over these four years, the place I’ve cried buckets, watched the seasons pass through, sat in the flowers and let the view seep into my soul. I’ve painted the view of the mountains; I’ve loved every moment in that field, even when the mud of early morning rain washed into my brand new shoes. I’ll continue to love it as long as I can!
This is another excerpt from one of my journals, May 24, 2007:
Yesterday I walked the beach and had an insight about rocks. I LOVE rocks, and I’ve always felt a bit jealous of rocks. How is it that rocks get to be eternal? But then I realized, they are not any more eternal than feathers or bones or shells or any residue of the living, as rocks are the bones of the Earth. They rise up from a molten, living existence deep in the Earth. Then I realized why I love those artifacts of the living so much! They are all bones, they are all remnants and memories of the living.
So me, here, living…I am the human side of the spirits. We move along, all in angst over our human troubles, and one day, all this human stuff will lay on or under the Earth in this relief of What Was.
I just spotted this little fragment I wrote last year in a trip I made to Seattle:
I’m looking at a a glass installation at the airport in Seattle. I find it so moving, and it mesmerizes me. People scurry past me; they wonder why I am lingering here. They think I am supposed to get into a line of some sort, but I am swimming in the colors of blue stretching from me into the sky, and prisms of rainbows are dancing on the floor around me. The shape is like an inverted rocket, but it’s the hue of the glass that is getting to me: cobalt blues with spices of reds and amber, and rectangular prisms of clear glass falling like rain. It draws me.
one petal unfurling lazily over another
like sleepy dangly arms on a Saturday morning
Stretching out to the sun, laden with morning dew
Opening wider and wider to the light
the petals rich with unabashed orange
See through and waving like tissue paper in the wind
Silent, Joyful, Dancing
The red cups at the base of each sheet holding
tenacious, trusting, floppy skirted
sheets of orange in place.
Vulnerable yet resilient
Lace of the Earth
Closing up tight to sleep with the sunset,
spent with the fullness of the day.