“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

10.06.2012

look ma! no hands!



I am reading when women were birds, one page at a time, often one line  at a time, not in any order right now, just opening the book and letting the words find me, then backtracking to the beginning and reading a bit, and then not.  I like to think I am leaving my own womanbird tracks as I meander across the pages.

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I am all grays and silver and champagne glitter lately, softness and sparkle, and driving home last night the tiniest of tiny water droplets drifted and splished across my windshield, glittering the almost nighttime sky.  I am silent and look to my many bowls of words for inspiration; reaching in, eyes closed, the first word I touch is  beginning. 

and so it shall be.

autumn.  

monday:  october morning cat at the open door, the slight chill of fall swirling through still warm sunshine.  a sudden breeze and the hackberry tree lets a leaf go -  it swoops inside the door, just barely, just enough, and lands softly on said cat's head.  at the exact moment i am choosing a word for this month.  the universe speaks its own language, and though i am not fluent, i understand more than a bit.  release, let go, take your hands off the handlebars and coast,  it says.  begin.  close my eyes.  exhale.  open.  i move always forward, even if slowly, moving with my body and the sound of my heart in my ears, and i am always beginning again and again.  i start over.

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it is the orange part of the year in other places, but here we are just beginning to see a brighter green, yellow, brown, leaves edged with silver like pages in expensive books.  today is cold enough for a fire and the skies are gray.  across the street i see fallen leaves scattered across the neighbor's yard.  there is a spot in the catawba tree where the leaves are more golden than the others, more golden than they were just this morning.  on the street, a man walks by wearing a black sweater and black beret.  just enough.  not quite time for jackets.  in the house, messes are everywhere - sacks filled with leftovers from my mother's life, bags overflowing with paperwork and unpaid bills, shoes piled atop each other - and here i sit, this almost evening's october cat curled next to my left thigh, her favorite place as i type away, my arm resting on her back.  i've become good at walking past the messes.  used to be they made me crazy and angry, but i've grown past that.  it's a good thing.

friends are out of town or have been asked to not call and it is day 2 of 3 days of solitude.  in the midst of all this messiness, partway clean but mostly not, my soul begins to stretch, sprawl, laze, relax.  i think about painting the top of the table that sits next to my bed. emmatree blue to brighten the coming months, i think.  maybe, i think.  maybe gray.  maybe i will do nothing but let it be.  i feel my soul yawn and nod.

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17 comments:

  1. I never can find any words in myself after visiting here except beautiful.

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    1. i feel exactly the same about your place. always beautiful. always.

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  2. Whatever would we do without cats? I would surely shrivel up and die.

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    1. oh. i cannot imagine. but i know one would find me wherever i was, and make me feel better.

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  3. i am always beginning again and again....
    your thoughts, your words. i find myself in your words.
    in fondest, tilda

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    1. beginning, over and over. i like to think it keeps us young. at least at heart. :)

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  4. yes, each day, a new beginning. it is so easy to forget this amid all the messes. the ones we walk by again and again, but it IS okay, because life is too short to spend it cleaning up messes.

    in this photo, in these words, i feel your soul nodding. i have missed your words.

    orange is everywhere here, and mostly, it is my least favorite color. but i sit before the fire, and i realize that is all wrong, it is a wonderful color. the color of life. of fire, of sunrise, of always, new beginnings.

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    1. i am so happy you said this! i, too, have never loved orange - poor orange - but yes. it is the color of beginnings, of life. perfect. :)

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  5. Oh, what beautiful words! You paint pictures in my mind. Thank you for sharing this!

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  6. Loved, loved, LOVED the book When Women Were Birds. I have loved the author since i was in my twenties. She is an amazing and wonderful woman. Figues you would love it too...She is your kind of woman. Strong, wise, interesting, nonconformist...perfect match.
    Hope this finds you well dear one.
    Julia

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  7. Oh yes, I have seen similar things such as the leaf finding its mark on the top of (is it still your mother's?) cat. Cats care little. It is all perfectly natural and right. And messes too--yours are probably much less worse than mine, but my cat cared little. She even contributed with piles of shed hair--everyplace, and I do mean everyplace. It has been over a year now, and I am still finding it, although now I consider it a gift and not a nuisance. Debi, I have a color for you. Cerulean Blue. As I remember, Just a dab will go a long, long way.

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  8. Your words are the equivalent of waking in sunshine and indulging in one of the long, satisfying stretches. I don't have more than that to say right now but I hope it is enough to convey that every visit here is a pleasant one.

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  9. your posts always fit well in the pocket of my soul.

    [i just picked up a copy of that book. i look forward to starting it on my weekend away from work.]

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  10. I read When Women Were Birds when it was hot off the presses, on a long weekend with family in eastern Oregon. Not only did I savor every word, I read aloud to my mother, my aunties, my girl cousins. . . and made some converts there, too.

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  11. Of course you are an artist, but you are a poet too. Definitely.

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come. sit under the emma tree & let's talk. i have cookies . . .