Timing is Everything

So today I got to work early and went into the greenhouse. The Mafioso Mourning Doves were stalking me for food, as were the Sparrows... but only after raucous efforts at love making by all. The Starlings were doing their weird impressions and the Sparrows began looking for their nesting areas.

The only 'flowers' I have are bulbs... daffs, tulips and hyacinths. No other plants, but it was 60 degrees out and I pressed the store manager to open the gate and let people know we were in business. He did.

People came. Out went mulch and fertilizer and grass seed and fencing and houseplants. There were questions about bald spots in the lawn, prime time to fertilize, when to kill weeds.

People were buying carts of lawn furniture.... grills were a hot commodity.

I was asked if we had Pansies yet.

..........

And the thought that's been niggling at me since November was still twitching, but I was too busy to parse it.

I clocked out and came home. There were kids in the park on the swings. Warm earth breath on my face. Crocus' were blooming... wild and purple.

I turned the key in the gangway door.

It's March 11th and this is all wrong.

What We Forget

When you live by the water.... if you're not careful... the sound of it can become so ingrained, that it's ignored. Maybe like the wind in the trees. Or birdsong.

Or, three times a day you can walk down the steps... faced with a vast sea of blue, or brown or gray and not see it... besieged as you are by daily minutiae... jaded as you are because, well... it's always there.

And then some nights... most, really... while in bed, you find yourself rocked by the moonlit view and the rhythm.

................

Tonight I was walking Meander. It was late enough for the neighborhood to be quiet, and I wasn't paying attention to more than my own thoughts.

And then there was a familiar sound that made me stop. A slow, triple 'shish'... 'shish'.... 'shish' -long pause, and then the heavy heaving of a large wave upon the rocks. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

I have wanted to forget because it's just too painful not being with the water. For the most part, I have. But hearing that tonight? I don't know if it was joy or anguish.

Bittersweet is too small a word.

And this is why I do what I do....

http://vimeo.com/vorobyoff/flowers

The Vague Things I Remember

It had to be 1977, because that's when we met and married and for all intents and purposes, went our separate ways.

We were driving home from my father's house... down a dark and empty interstate... 30 miles, and it was night. There was a full moon. We felt close and insulated, in the car and the dark and our new, different life together.

The night was steeped in darkness, except for this sharp, brilliant moon... the way the world was before we lit it up. He was driving and said he was uncomfortable. The moon was shining into the car from the south, and right on him. I was in shadow. He said this type of moonlight made him jittery, that it always had. To me, the moon was the moon.

My handsome, gay husband could be dramatic when it suited the situation, but this wasn't one of those times. He was uncomfortable. I talked about the moon with him, and as he described it's crystalline light, that could maybe be shattered with the flick of a finger... I could somehow understand it. There WAS a difference to it that night. A brightness, sharpness, an almost emotional distance... so different from the soft moonlight I had always noticed.

Eventually he pulled the car over to the side and asked me to drive. I did, and kept waiting for the moon to ambush me, even though I knew this was his craziness.

............

Years later, taking a night walk... I felt the moon his way, like cool metal to the skin.

There are so many quotes about the moon. One of my favorites is, "The moon is shining down her wisdom, Girl."

But that night, and tonight and a few nights in between it's 'The moon's a harsh mistress. She's hard to call your own."

My Cry for the Day