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A tale

November 14, 2011 by Cynthia

A fire burned through these parts.  It had smoldered for years, contained.  The ground grew resistant to the heat, things died, were forgotten.  A lot forgotten. Critters fled.  A strange, strained, heated landscape.

Finally jumped its firebreak a few years back, consumed all in its path.  Hot, unendurable, more things died, what was left – ran.

Fire died back, died out mostly.  It was part natural, part man-made.  They jailed the fella who caused it, life sentence for the destruction he caused.  When a tree falls in the forest – someone cared.

Life is coming back, the rocks have cooled.  Critters starting to trust the place again.  Other men work to heal the landscape, plant seeds that grow only after trial by fire.  Funny how that works.

Part demon, part nature, fire.  This landscape will see beauty again this generation, better in the next.  Beauty takes time.   Sometimes beauty takes fire.

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Take note!

November 11, 2011 by Cynthia

My first observation of a repetitive date was 7/7/77.  I started a new summer job that day.  Since then, I have made note of those sorts of days, the turn of the century has provided many such watershed moments.

So, for those fond of these sorts of things – today is 11/11/11.  And of course, both this morning, and this evening, it will be 11:11 on 11/11/11.

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A downer

November 10, 2011 by Cynthia

Things are looking dim at The Neighbor’s house.  The mailbox, always a clean, upright profile, is laying askance on the lawn.  Broken clean off at the base.  Unclear if turbulent winds of late had a hand in it.

Downed mailbox – limitation of ingress and egress – never a good sign.

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On the road

November 9, 2011 by Cynthia

Pouring rain, wide streets, branches baring all, the torn-off facade of a weathered building.  Strip malls, a Walmart.

No errand,  just passing through, but awareness that I am looking for something.  Something unbeknownst.

A small bright sign on a nondescript brown building going by, Beauty Within.

That was it.

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A different frame

November 6, 2011 by Cynthia

New vinyl windows.  Expensive, at least for me, maybe a small federal tax credit at hand. Needed on two lower level office windows.  On opposite sides of the house, one window faces north, my office faces south.

The wooden frames on both windows succumbed to the elements.  The northern office window, formerly the domain of X, was decomposing from the inside out, looked fine at first blush, but a tap or two crumbled it.

The southern window has been breaking down for years in plain sight, a tidy home for industrious ants, and more than a few spider condominiums.

As with all things new, the windows reconstitute the space they occupy.  Frames tight, open, spacious.

The northern view for years – closed, musty, stacked, cold white, dark – blinds rarely open.  Now terra cotta, busy, open, bright, warm and growing.  Two sides windows, two different gardens, capacious views.

Always warm, my office window plays into the gardens beyond it – the secret view behind the gate – timeless even through summer and winter.  Larger window, more sun, more moonlight.

No longer dark, decomposing – or occupied by others – these windows will revolve the rooms and lives they touch.  Beauty and imagination so long missed, now drives life forward.

New views at ground level.  Always a good thing.

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All Souls Night

October 31, 2011 by Cynthia

You know me.  For I am you,
sideways writing on a page.
You recognize and then forget –
for now.

You know me, I am you.
Know me, remember you.

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Waves

October 30, 2011 by Cynthia

My son carved his hand along with the pumpkin – Angry Bird.  Stitches.

The tides –  wave of hurt hitting shore, moving off.  Wave of shock, distress, met by care, concern, action.  Tide diminishes, shock dissipates, reorganization toward healing.

Waves beyond – not harm – but memory, endless change on a constant shore.

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Smile for your thoughts

October 24, 2011 by Cynthia

Macy’s cosmetics department –  just passing through.

Expensive packages, softly lit counters, flattering mirrors, wonderful colours.  I used to linger in places like this.  Money being what it is, I do no more.

Even mid-day weekend, too many well-coiffed, immaculately made-up saleswomen stand waiting to serve other women.  Like a hair salon, it is a land, a terrain, all its own.

Breezing through I notice now the paint, the carefully applied concoctions, the compulsion toward a culturally decided definition of beauty.  The placards, the displays,  even some of these  women appear harsh in application of product.

I can no longer afford these places, or the neighboring ones that hint of glittering holiday wear – terrain that once was mine.  How I would love to feel pretty again this holiday season, just once.  It has been many years.

But I do not lack for the most hard-won accessory, the priceless facial component least evidenced in this land – a simple smile.

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In the air

October 24, 2011 by Cynthia

Saturday morning – out and about – sun is bright.  Light fog drifts 20 feet up, cirrus clouds, checkerboard contrails in big sky.

Sideways sunbeams reflect off spent cornstalks, October’s first frost melting.  Fields stretching, harvest stubble, roadside carts of butternut and pumpkin.  Pick up what you want, leave money in the can.

Deep reaching rows of deciduous trees blanketed by autumn.  A palisade of weeping willows down a cultivated road.

Autumn morning,  the sun remains strong.

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Times change

October 23, 2011 by Cynthia

I spoke with an interesting young man on the street the other day.  Senior in high school, busy schedule.  We talked about his upcoming dual enrollment at the local university, events he is involved in,  his plans upon graduating next spring – hoping to pursue an engineering degree out west.  Nice fellow.

It was Walking Boy.  From nary a sideways glance to a pleasant pass of the day.  Sometimes people just take time.

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