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Up on the roof

November 29, 2011 by Cynthia

Tis the season.  I had the Christmas lights up on the roof before Halloween this year.  Beat the holiday rush – and inclement weather.

Nice view from the roof.  Birds-eye, tree tops instead of roots, where things are going – results, not beginnings. Repaired a few things.  Laid flat for a spell,  watching clouds.  Private.  Very few passerby look up.

Fear of those heights crippled me on the roof a few years back.   Used the cell phone to call the Neighbor to talk me down.   Thanks again Neighbor.

Now two stories up and on the edge, fear gets no truck with me.  Job needs to get done.  Emotion a luxury in the face of things – like shingles – that need repair.

Thanksgiving saw the lights turned on, pretty nice.  Tis the season.

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Signs

November 22, 2011 by Cynthia

On walkabout, cloudless, sunny cold day.

Rounding  the street, my mind happened on an idea worth pursuing.  Simultaneously my eyes caught an airplane splitting the vault of the sky evenly by contrail.

Atmospheric conditions being what they were, the disappearing contrail followed the plane closely, a daylit  shooting star down the western horizon.   Airy exclamation point on thoughts worth considering.   Maybe a good sign.

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Resting place

November 20, 2011 by Cynthia

It seemed a beautiful cat, large, well-loved.  Rich black spots against white, full curling tail, warmly asleep on a golden rug.

But dead.  Flung by vehicle impact  into a bed of still brilliant yellow leaves at roadside.  Mourners passed at 50 mph.

Asleep.

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Mirror mirror

November 20, 2011 by Cynthia

Caught myself crying in the mirror.

Strangely beautiful.

I do not know why.

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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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