Wild things.

This is what I see when I sit on my deck facing this garden by the lake. It was already fenced when we bought it, and it has remained fenced as I fight my way into colonizing it.
I see wild things  creeping in on all sides. Whatever stands in place, does so because I interfered, not just once. My interference changed the lawn into a couple of vegetable gardens. The paths through and around are liberally ignored by me, but mowed by my Hubby who likes riding his top-gun riding mower once or twice a season.

I have asked him not to. He has his reasons.

Here are mine:

Bees like wild places.
Dead branches allow birds and other critters to hide and nest.
Finding wild arugula  and fennel growing here and there lets me prepare many surprising meals.

I once knew about foraging when Dad brought home mushrooms and asparagus and wild lettuces in the middle of winter when the cupboards were bare and there was no cash or credit to take us to the store.
Here, I'm reminded of all I've been when  I pull a weed, put a seed in the soil, collect something I did not expect.

So many miles before...

I've been negligent for a while now.
Unable to pick up pen and paper and write back.
I'm still panicking when I think about what happened.
Many people took time to visit, leave notes, contribute to Brian's memorial, and I can't find them or know enough to find them in an easy sweep, in a I'm so glad you stopped and cared sweep, that I bury my head and just sob away.

I have miles of words I want to utter, words I want to send you, words I want to acquire to form thoughts and to have thoughts bloom into smiling sentences.

Today, before dawn, I put all of his things away. All but a few pictures.
On Hubby's desk, papers and correspondence with  probate lawyers.
On my desk, papers, and addresses, and notes to myself.
I need to attend to these and to holiday notes as well.

This voyage has many miles ahead.

It just is.

The scene is jumbled.
A fallen tree and hundreds of critters all around.
Everything dwarfs the few human actors. 
No need for explanation. Everyone knows the play is about life in the forest primeval.
The early buzz talked about a weak villain. who's not even on stage after scene one, and how hard the crew worked at building that set.


The set circles around the stage, encompasses the audience.


A hidden chorus cries out in pain, gods were injured, punishment will be hurled down on the unsuspecting, the neglectful, the uncaring.
Already, the audience is making plans for dinner dates, next week's trip to the slopes. The stage curtain comes down and everyone sighs in relief.
This play was not worth the price. It was not about them.
Later, they'll read the bad reviews, and smile broadly at their good taste.

Note for the Day:

1.Accept the day in front of you.
2. Breathe the wild sage, the heather, the sea spray.
3. Care for yourself.
4. Do what needs done.
5. Expect the path will be  challenging and keep yourself in perfect condition.

Should you peek over your left shoulder,  you'll be rewarded with an amazing view!

Questions for the experts:

For S.Rushie: If we all eat the same food, listen to the same sounds, view the same television,movies, advertising, did we train our minds the same way?

For Pirandello: If we can't stand our naked faces and can't reveal  our true thoughts, are we hiding ourselves from ourselves?

For Kundera: If lightness of being is unbearable, is heaviness of being then, quite easy to bear?

And for all of you in blogland: Can we write while we experience the surgeon cutting into our flesh, or do we only write way after, when the idea of that surgeon cutting into our flesh resurrects the entire experience?

Tell me...

You called.
I miss seeing you, you say.
I hear something else in your voice: Be brave!
And I want to be that brave.

I talk and talk and talk
ending up at the same place
the same hurt keeps my pace.
I thought I could talk about other things, I say.

You will, in time, you say
 and  a hand on my shoulder stretches
across the back
all the way around
and into my heart strings.
Yet, the sixty miles of vascular highway
sinewy nerve endings, and muscles in my legs
cease to support me.

My wound covered her carpet.

Autumn.

It is a long road
back to Summer Dreams
to that splendor in the grass
we anticipated so.

These colors
lull us to hope,
reds and oranges
and sinewy browns
confuse the next curves.

Autumn is
a courtship game,
a night at the movie house
with candy and popcorn,
wind howling outdoors,
night creeping from behind the curtains.

Only  the boyfriend sits tall and strong
driving with confidence
on slippery roads.

It's a guessing game how it will all end.