Friday, July 20, 2007

Come With Me Tomorrow?

I walked in a cloud this morning. Past a lake and into the woods. A careful look where early morning sunbeams passed revealed tiny drops of water floating all around me. The air was cool – not above 55 degrees yet, and the ground seemed to fight against the inevitability of another warm day, but for now it was cool – cool enough to keep mosquitoes away, and I was alone. I walked paths that had not been walked in some time and felt the spiders’ webs break across my face, others of them catching bits of light just ahead or to the side of me. Trees had fallen unnoticed – firewood for later maybe, but for now another story of the wind that blew through a couple weeks ago. I left the path, called by wild raspberries and a patch of open grass – lighter greens with the look of soft, quiet, inviting, escape. A handful of adolescent oaks grew nearby the edges and seemed to prove a kind of valor in growth suggesting they’d survived one challenge or another. I stayed there awhile and listened. Then light bounced off raspberries up ahead, and I laughed aloud at how many there were dripping from plants all around. I walked into the middle of them, picked handfuls, and ate them all. Raspberries planted intentionally in my yard are a delicious first breakfast in season at the end of every morning walk, but they never come close to the sweet taste of earth and wild and free and ohmygoodness I ate to my full today. My fingers were numbing from the cold, and I didn’t care. I filled a makeshift pouch in my sweatshirt with pickings and made my way back to the clearing where I stayed for a while. I stopped there. I stopped. Sat. Listened and then just didn’t. Maybe looked and maybe not even that. Just. And then the mist began to lift. Light sliced more and more through cool air, and mosquitoes at last reclaimed their clearing. Cat Stevens sang in my head as I started the walk home, “Morning has broken, like the first morning….”

3 comments:

Ken said...

I tried to comment earlier, but Blogger hated me.

Thanks for sharing this. It hit on a day when I really, really needed something like this.

Sentinel 47 said...

You bring home to me... especially when I can't be there. Tears to my eyes. It's also amazing to hear that we shared the same hour of the morning -- and, though my surroundings paled in comparison to yours, it makes me feel much closer to you. Thank you! ---tg

jenn said...

There may never be enough tomorrows with you and raspberries and fog and earth. . . I'll be there if I can.