Last Day of June, 2014
I went for a run this morning and was nearly stopped in my tracks by the perfection of it all.
For a moment in fact I was, watching the raindrops turn to perfect circles radiating endlessly outward in the puddles.
It is still hot and uncomfortably humid, but the air is sweetened by rain, gentle drops falling upon my skin here or there like the long awaited kisses of a lover, graciously offering respite with no expectation of return.
The ticking machine wrapped around my wrist swears that it is morning, but the quality of light would have me believe it were nearer to dusk.
I listen to Sigur 4, but I can still hear birds singing in the trees. In the distance, a train dutifully announces its presence, forging steadfastly ahead, carrying its goods or passengers from someplace to another, where they will be appreciated. I am so overwhelmed I have to catch my breath. I laugh at myself. I used to live in Manhattan.
The city is full of energy. But it is choppy and shallow, and very little of it really penetrates. The country is different. The energy is pure. It runs deep and goes deep.
I walk for a minute, and then go on. A man is sitting on his porch drinking a cup of coffee. His neighbor comes around the corner with a flock of baby ducklings. "They're about ready to take off," he's saying. I pass by, unable to refrain from smiling, and ask if he's raised them. "Yep, since they were about yay big," he says, his hand tickling the blades of grass. "Now they're getting their feathers and starting to think they know more than me. Time to move them along," he laughs. I do too.
A little further down the road, I see Matt's uncle walking down to his shed. He is nearly indoors by the time I pass, but I try to call out a hello. As usual, I do not succeed in raising my voice significantly enough to make 'calling out' worthwhile. He doesn't even flinch, because he has not heard a thing. I laugh to myself again, and think that I will tell him next time I see him that I had tried to call out, but failed because of my strange vocal shortcoming. I will explain to him that though I often wish to yell out a greeting, my nature betrays me. Except, I will concede, when Matt makes me angry. He seems to be the only one who can inspire such a rise. Right now, there is something charming in that, and I smile to myself again.
At home, the rain begins to fall harder, and I thank the universe I'm headed indoors to shower. Perhaps ironic. First I get the mail, and I am happy that there is something for me. It is coupons from the local Shop-ko store, and as I open the envelope, I can't help but notice that each is printed with a notice that it is not eligible for use with a senior citizen's discount. I smile, realizing that although lately I've taken to lamenting the years that seem to keep piling up, at 29, I've got a ways to go before that particular discount will validate my complaints.
These are moments I would like to hold forever. I know I cannot, will not, at least not in this form. I suspect that the best I can do is to be present, to fully experience them, soak them up, and hope they become, in part, me.
For a moment in fact I was, watching the raindrops turn to perfect circles radiating endlessly outward in the puddles.
It is still hot and uncomfortably humid, but the air is sweetened by rain, gentle drops falling upon my skin here or there like the long awaited kisses of a lover, graciously offering respite with no expectation of return.
The ticking machine wrapped around my wrist swears that it is morning, but the quality of light would have me believe it were nearer to dusk.
I listen to Sigur 4, but I can still hear birds singing in the trees. In the distance, a train dutifully announces its presence, forging steadfastly ahead, carrying its goods or passengers from someplace to another, where they will be appreciated. I am so overwhelmed I have to catch my breath. I laugh at myself. I used to live in Manhattan.
The city is full of energy. But it is choppy and shallow, and very little of it really penetrates. The country is different. The energy is pure. It runs deep and goes deep.
I walk for a minute, and then go on. A man is sitting on his porch drinking a cup of coffee. His neighbor comes around the corner with a flock of baby ducklings. "They're about ready to take off," he's saying. I pass by, unable to refrain from smiling, and ask if he's raised them. "Yep, since they were about yay big," he says, his hand tickling the blades of grass. "Now they're getting their feathers and starting to think they know more than me. Time to move them along," he laughs. I do too.
A little further down the road, I see Matt's uncle walking down to his shed. He is nearly indoors by the time I pass, but I try to call out a hello. As usual, I do not succeed in raising my voice significantly enough to make 'calling out' worthwhile. He doesn't even flinch, because he has not heard a thing. I laugh to myself again, and think that I will tell him next time I see him that I had tried to call out, but failed because of my strange vocal shortcoming. I will explain to him that though I often wish to yell out a greeting, my nature betrays me. Except, I will concede, when Matt makes me angry. He seems to be the only one who can inspire such a rise. Right now, there is something charming in that, and I smile to myself again.
At home, the rain begins to fall harder, and I thank the universe I'm headed indoors to shower. Perhaps ironic. First I get the mail, and I am happy that there is something for me. It is coupons from the local Shop-ko store, and as I open the envelope, I can't help but notice that each is printed with a notice that it is not eligible for use with a senior citizen's discount. I smile, realizing that although lately I've taken to lamenting the years that seem to keep piling up, at 29, I've got a ways to go before that particular discount will validate my complaints.
These are moments I would like to hold forever. I know I cannot, will not, at least not in this form. I suspect that the best I can do is to be present, to fully experience them, soak them up, and hope they become, in part, me.
posted by bella.calamitas at 9:37 AM
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