How To Remember

It’s a little bit windy and more leaves are falling — golden flickers in the lovely bright and beautiful sunlit, almost always blue skies of southeastern USA. There are a few gray and white clouds, suggesting a little more rain, floating lowly. It’s the last of the leaves and it’s starting to make me crave going home — with all that that might mean. Don’t ask me why. It might be Christmas-magic conjuring spells that call for lonely.

I’m reaching out, in my soul, for those I’ve known that brought that magic to me at the first of my being. I miss them — those who’ve mostly gone — one way or another. I wonder if he’s still alive — that boy I knew when I was seventeen. I want to go and find him or visit the city where I knew him just to see if that old magic can be brought back to feel another time. That city I made my own to visit when I felt I missed him more than I could stand — but I’m afraid to know the truth now even though I know my time is moving on and there might not be many chances.  For years he twinkled when he saw me if I showed myself or when he came to see me on his own — he missed me some too.

Home again, home again — where was or is that home?

I have barrels of tears from those days. They seem to make cycles. His friend’s father was a music man and his friend’s father’s girlfriend made sticky buns that smelled yummy in a little house made for squirrels under a big tree and we were among the drums speaking — it all made the falling in love easy. I wanted to live like that forever.

I never have known how to let a thing go gracefully. Sticky buns are sticky. It isn’t easy for me to make those happy moments so I store them for remembering like how to remember roses in December so December isn’t too bleak.

More leaves fall and rush off in wind to go wherever they go. I try to make the longing thoughts go with them but my feet are far too itchy. What to do with the cats and where to get a car that can make the trip is a trouble. Maybe I should just move there where the trillion memories live that were good enough to store for December. Maybe it won’t be December when I get there, but, after all, it comes again every year. I can be there waiting for the Christmas-magic that always seems to call for being lonely.


Here And There

The kids were playing in the schoolyard, but not quite as many as usual. Some must have stayed in to avoid the gloomy fall weather with its anticipation and spits of rain. It’s hard to start off a morning happy when weather is so heavy but as soon as a bird chirps, all the gloom can be forgotten and it can seem like the sun is shining.

A beautiful red cardinal appears and doesn’t stay long because they’re skittish and as beautiful as they are, they don’t seem to like to be seen. The female comes to follow him at a water bowl. She too, leaves as quickly as a slurp’s time. Then some doves appear and the great-tailed grackles. They’ve shown up again after seeming to have gone missing all summer. Everyone seems to be looking for food and wanting water. Are they making themselves ready for winter?

A lot of people don’t like the grackles because they poke their long beaks deep into the ground and circle them around making holes, on the hunt for grubs. They could be glad because grubs are a nemesis of perfect lawns. Holes or dead patches neither make much status — so they just kill them both — the grubs and the grackles.  That way too, they don’t have bird poo on their cars.

Grubs are great for composting and for helping to improve or even make soil so for a permaculture patch of ground, all things are left to do what they do, as they please, despite the mess and irregularities that others hate to see. Fences make good neighbors.

Then the birds all scatter because the king of the jungle turns the corner on the hunt for his own nibbles or a drink of water. He tumbles around on a log on the ground, playing after scratching his claws.

It’s just a steady stream of living things so there is no sorrow in gloomy weather if you’ve finally had your coffee and perked up enough to see it all. Except that that circle of thought dredged up another circle-of-life thought and it comes to mind that it won’t be long before the kids have outgrown even the new building that just went up, blocking mountain views, and the person in the permaculture patch might be booted out to make more room for teaching more kids how to kill grackles and grubs.

It’s a little bit of a trick, getting past the initial gloom of barren trees and winter’s-coming breezes and shorter, not so sunny days — but there is work to do that requires these conditions. It’s time to get the pretty fabrics out and make a quilt to make the house brighter and more cozy while spring and other liminal spaces are being navigated — here and there, between the leaves and feathers.