Each morning I get to see a different view of this scene – sometimes quite hot and droopy, sometimes gilded with dawn, and sometimes as this morning shrouded in a mist that is whisked away almost as soon as it arrives.
For a time I was within the mist, the cooling touch of it on my skin. I glanced back to ensure the dogs weren’t getting lost. There were early shots fired in the adjoining land at the ever-present dove so I didn’t want them mistaken for predators. But they stayed near, still sleepy and wanting more to be home than out in the field.
The thick ribbon of fog was moving like a living thing on the eddies of wind and heat. The sun rose higher, burning it to a tissue-thin veil over the world. It is, admittedly, a better view – the world with a soft focus lens over all.
I ought to be doing any number of things since Sarge is working much of the weekend. But I’ve no heart for any of it. I woke with a throbbing headache – apnea, I know, since it also woke me at the magical 3am…the literal middle of the night. I was still half dreaming, swimming through a mental fog to a place where I knew I had to breathe – slow, deep, fill the lungs and then the blood and then the brain. Slow, girl, because this is why you feel so stupid these days…this is why you can’t remember things…why you are exhausted even on rising…slowly breathe that life back into yourself and then down, down again into that dreamland.
I suppose it is why everything is wrack and ruin…so damned tired all the time with everything seeming insurmountable. I do try – things picked up and put in their place here – an effort is made. But never enough. And this, spending what time and brain I have here, does not help that problem. I suppose I could triage the place – decide what is most important. But for now…the quiet is enticing and the thought of more sleep beckons like a mermaid on the shore. Come, there is no drowning, no desperate fight for breath and life. Just that enveloping embrace…salty like tears, spinning like a leaf in autumn to the depths, slowly drifting without knowing that this was always the plan. This was always how it was supposed to be.
I woke – late – to find the morning wind cool and fresh. I’d chosen the Atwood palm leaf cowboy hat for the shade only to find it a bit tough to retain. The dogs and I walked and enjoyed the sudden change of weather when I noticed my shadow, leashes shaped like a lasso.It was make-believe. No rancher, no hand, but a shadow of one, perhaps. An echo on the land of hands long since gone to dust, of air longing to feel that rope whistling through in an unending arc…
The night before we walked together and I was lucky to have gone along, it being a sky for the ages. At first, it was just golden light in a robin’s egg blue sky. But then the sun fell, letting the high clouds catch the last of the light.
As we returned home those shades mixed, the eastern pink with the western blue, creating a shade that must be the color of heaven’s waiting room. And I would have missed it.
This morning, we enjoyed coffee on the porch and talked about the few errands to be made. We took the motorcycle while the weather was cool, winding our way lazily around the back roads. The recent storms brought the white rain lilies to life, their blossoms on high stems. so that wide fields were covered in an elevated, waving, blanket of snow.
It was a day off as it ought to be – spent doing things that please rather than just what life demands. And later my dear friend sent a link to this article and the views made me remember how I used to leave every year to walk into those snowy ridges. Maybe this winter we’ll try to do it together. It would be a lovely view.
It was a lovely (if very warm) evening as two families gathered to see two young people choose each other. The favors were silk fans, suitable to the weather and a welcome addition to the event. The younger ladies were learning how to snap them open like Geisha, coquettish without knowing why or even what it means. But such is the power of time and memory.
In truth, I am glad there were very few photos of me – I’d chosen an unflattering outfit, had no time to dress my hair properly, and was an orchestrator, rushing around so I look as bedraggled as I felt. Bless the photographer for that mercy. I do not think she would mind my offering a few draft photos here. There is a “thing” that is done, now – the first look photo in which the couple sees each other in private before the ceremony to have that time together that is shared with no one. And this was one of the photos from that time. The chapel is a lovely one – it is where we wed – and it was perfect for the simple ceremony.
She wore the pearls I brought just in case…a bride never remembers everything and I thought if her parents did not have something of the family to offer that they might just do. And so they did….and my heart was so touched when I saw them. In deference to his family she also wore the tiny oak leaf hairpins I’d bought – again, just in case. It was a lovely gesture that I hope they noted. The chapel has a lovely bell tower and once wed, the couple enters the small vestibule and together they ring into life their future.
There is a kind of post-wedding melancholy, though, in which all that needed your aid is over and they are off to do those things that need cared for as a new couple. You remember how it once was when you married, and you look around at your life so rote and set into pattern…I think this is why we are so entranced with young love – it is a reminder of what we once felt, the heart pounding delight in every glance and the promise each day brought.
There was a text message the other morning after they returned from a brief honeymoon – a sky dive together, it would seem, and a note to tell everyone that it was the best experience together so far and they yet lived. Goodness…fearless.
So I try to remind myself as the same dishes sit in the same sink, the same laundry in the same pile, waiting, that there is more to it all than just the rote days passing. There really ought to be more.