Coming up for air
Whew.
So then, here I am. On the other side of a wild ride that started last . . . say, October.
My daughter's sweet 16 part, then a play, then anniversaries and my birthday, the holidays, New Years, a birthday for my youngest, my wifes big 40th birthday party, another play, the annual basketball tourney video, first prom, ---not to mention visits with schools and psychologists getting my youngest prepared to start going to school in the fall with his special needs---followed by a couple of weeks to try and collect the fall out that was pushed aside as a result of all this.
If God, the Universe and everything were consipiring with my wife to get me looking forward to the simplicity of doing yard work, all these months heavy programing may have just done the trick. She'll be glad to hear that. She already has a list.
But apparently my busy-ness and my constant mental preoccupation with what needs to get done has earned me the reputation of being a person who doesn't stop to smell the roses. Or even notice that there are roses there, for that matter.
For the record, I do.
Just before dawn
Just as dawn breaks
When arriving in the morning where every one feels so polished to present themselves for the day, all perfume and candy coffee
A sunny noon in the shade of a tree
3:00 when the bell rings
That hour between work and a night out where you're getting ready and fill with anticipation
Dusk
Sunset on a swing
When the first stars come out
Deep in the night with the moonlight on the garden and the lawn
Or perhaps:
A cool fall hand out the window drive
The first open window drive in the spring
During a silent snowfall
A clear night on summer break laying on the warm hood of a car to just look at the stars away from city lights
When the wind pushes in the first sent of a coming summer rain
So then, here I am. On the other side of a wild ride that started last . . . say, October.
My daughter's sweet 16 part, then a play, then anniversaries and my birthday, the holidays, New Years, a birthday for my youngest, my wifes big 40th birthday party, another play, the annual basketball tourney video, first prom, ---not to mention visits with schools and psychologists getting my youngest prepared to start going to school in the fall with his special needs---followed by a couple of weeks to try and collect the fall out that was pushed aside as a result of all this.
If God, the Universe and everything were consipiring with my wife to get me looking forward to the simplicity of doing yard work, all these months heavy programing may have just done the trick. She'll be glad to hear that. She already has a list.
But apparently my busy-ness and my constant mental preoccupation with what needs to get done has earned me the reputation of being a person who doesn't stop to smell the roses. Or even notice that there are roses there, for that matter.
For the record, I do.
I just don't talk about it much. Its like to comment or draw attention to what is stirring me will somehow deminish the moment. Listening to remixes of Leigh Nash on my iPod put me in the mood for remembering. Her music feels like it’s made of the parts of a day that still have optimism in it.
Just before dawn
Just as dawn breaks
When arriving in the morning where every one feels so polished to present themselves for the day, all perfume and candy coffee
A sunny noon in the shade of a tree
3:00 when the bell rings
That hour between work and a night out where you're getting ready and fill with anticipation
Dusk
Sunset on a swing
When the first stars come out
Deep in the night with the moonlight on the garden and the lawn
Or perhaps:
A cool fall hand out the window drive
The first open window drive in the spring
During a silent snowfall
A clear night on summer break laying on the warm hood of a car to just look at the stars away from city lights
When the wind pushes in the first sent of a coming summer rain
The last hum of summer heat in the eve after the sun slips away
A wood fire after dark
I do notice. I do. Just read my blog.
posted by Will at 3:40 PM
2 Comments:
I always think you notice...
Hey, I forgot to tell you...J's heading out on the road next week...for about a month. First stop? Omaha on the 17th. :)
Who says you don't notice? (who are they? are they not paying attention?)
Was that bit from "Just before dawn breaks" down to "A wood fire after dark" YOURS or lyrics from a Leigh Nash song? Whatever it is, it's yummy and evocative.
(i'm betting it's yours, you poet you.)
D
Post a Comment
<< Home