The weather today was incredible, sunny and warm, almost 50 degrees in mid January. As I sit looking out the sliding glass door, framed in the wood my father never got around to finishing, my mother shines high in the sky. It’s two days until she shows herself full again, on the date of Orthodox New Year, but in this crystal clear winter twilight, she is great and beautiful even at four in the afternoon.
Last night she let me see one of my neighbours, a possom rooting for food, funny and graceful at the same time. I threw some chicken skin out for him, and could watch him find it in the glow of a feild we both shared.
Along with the beauty, like a covey of grouse taking off beside me, there was frustration today. A woman stopped ahead of me, and the driver behind her didn’t brake too gently, so following her, I knocked over a quart of Coke into the mats of the car. I was frustrated and jangled, hands sticky with goo, so much that I dropped the new half-gallon mug, cracking it. Gone now, I picked it up and hurled it down on the concrete, where it shattered and I felt tight with repression. I’m definately feeling better, but my ribs still feel stabs of pain when I cough, and my throat sometimes catches full of phlegm, denying me breath for a moment.
The Travel Channel offered a glimpse of five guys who rafted down the Yukon, and in the simplicity of their journey, I took comfort. It was a different cycle they obeyed, the cycle of nature and not of machines and that was calming.
I looked up past the tall tree still standing in the ravine out back, one of the few that survived the bulldozers which turned this land above the river into a subdivision. It streches skyward, limbless, like a crooked finger, until it explodes in a crown of branches. We wonder how much longer it will last, but tonight it danced with my mother the moon as she slid across the eastern sky into her path for this evening.
She smiles at me there, and I know what she is saying. This four month shag, beard and brushes, need to come off. . .