Returning to yet a new version of life: revised/edited/repainted/rearranged.
So strange, all of this.
I swear, one of these days I'll forget that I live back on B-Street and head over to that other house, that domicile of The Irretrievably Broken. And that, by the way, is not a description of myself.
Getting back to the previous post, the night of baby owls:
I felt plunged into a dark and startling tale from Grimm, as if the secrets of some underworld were lurking just beyond my vision -- and not necessarily unpleasant -- but that resonant boom-boom of the woodpecker's beak on the snag, coupled with the eerie wiser-than-thou baby-owl visages urged a giving-over to another world, one with possibilities yet unimagined. Hard to describe, really. But I shiver even now just thinking about it. Shiver in odd delight, almost as if I've not earned this momentary clarity.
I'd not have experienced this had I remained in that previous life.
And would never have chosen this zigzag route, these mine-fields of fickle affections.
I recall asking my mother, when she was in her early eighties, if the spectacle of a dramatic sunrise ever got old. Her reply? Never.
And today: relentless soft rain, and so few hours before Official Summer. Pumpkins have sprouted, the leeks have perked up, finally, but the tomatoes languish. (No surprise there.)
These are the last days of Spring in the year 2011, and I sing praise to the friends I hold dear, and to my sisters.