Just now, Sean is done swimming and his accent is muted in the chill of the pond, into which he proves the only one foolish enough to venture. His anticipated shrieks bound the hill’s slope, up, washing our toes – all fifty of them friendly – dangling careless from this porch. It faces North, North-East, toward Camel’s Hump, with its sunlit dome land marking the distance. What bliss! To greet this season in such exultant surround and to have the space we do – to breathe-in the valley, and so wholly. It’s chirping-loud flora a show, and all of Fall is showing off. T. Cole knows what I'm talking about.
How am I here? What series of events the cause? Which was the crucial turn?
Sean’s cursing hits loudly, his harsh Zimbabwean patois: “Absolutely useless bloody pricks…”
We all chuckle, acknowledging our attentions to his ordeal, and cause it feels good. What a necessary contrast to the staggering peace we all felt, timed perfectly.
How do I capture this place? Appropriately? Simply. If I knew how to — if I could — I would be afraid to do it. The capture gets the spoiling. But this intense honesty of feeling is important. This I know.
It seems to say “Look at me. Look me in the eye. I am the essential majesty. I see you. I see the city where you have let yourself land, and I raise you this place; its calm. This Opening. Breath me in, and find your stores replenished.”
I ask myself: "Are your bones aligned? Are your muscles, your ligaments, your stretching parts and their opposite, more tough places…are they HERE? I mean REALLY HERE?"
I am the Will - entire - pressed upon a whispered, breathless "yes!" And so can finally stand to in a couple too-short days leave, sans regret.
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