Standing Appreciation

We woke to about six inches of fresh snow this morning. It is now late in the afternoon and it still looks like a snow globe outside. The world slowed into a fantasy that moved a little closer to life; to the surface of imagination apart from the daily grind. Hands shutter with the need to write.

I went to a private party the other night and saw some of my oldest friends. This is a group to be mostly grounded and successful people with the same good ‘ol sense of humor and open to the same questions we all share about our lives as adults, parents, and old friends. The pretentious veil is thin between us; we share similar childhood stories having grown up in the same tribe. It is a natural state among peers.

I love the snow because time slows and makes quiet time for taking stock. It is like the observation of color; an awareness of life outside the grey. Not mired in routine.

Decisions force a new paradigm and music now flows from the back room. It is deep, a woman’s voice drawing from her well of longing, being in her purest form. The raw vocal moves through every crack in the fragile domain like a haunting light that flickers in the darkest places. A crying passion carries the chord of a new beginning that emerges with the memory of what it was to be child, lost to the circumstance of time and two people doing what they believed.

The backwash of realizing this and that and what-if scenarios play out with a discourse of forgiveness. There are no flowers to be delivered. Barely a drop remains to bring forth any root.

Risk is with everything worth doing and again for those things not worth doing. Sometimes we gain insight into our own lives and are set back, eased into acknowledgement and truth of our own desires. As a species, there is instinct to survive, to breathe. It is not like it used to be when we were growing up. Some know this and muse about ancient experiences that shaped who we have become, who we were. Our parents, while on different walks of their own, understood the basic human stuff that kids were just learning about. There were no prejudices about the place and it was easy to let things be. Principles were dressed in perfect fashion despite pushing boundaries of adolescesence, like Polo shirts and faded out Levis.

It is as still and frigid as a stolen love. Life does this sometimes. Nothing moves but for my breath that drifts away into thin air. Deer have left a very straight and deliberate line of tracks through the side yard. A sliver of alpenglow illuminates the top half inch of Mt Bachelor that sits atop my neighbor’s roofline and about twenty-five miles in the distance. I can see the Summit Chair and just to the right, Broken Top, standing almost as tall as a full twelve inches through a seventeen mile scope given my vantage point and angle of perspective. Despite this tricky viewpoint, it is a reminder of why I am here.

I hope this place remains resilient for another season. Our connections are ever changing and where we place our steps do matter. It is a time of introspection and drawing nearer to those things that lighten our heart. Whatever your life, let it be abundant as it can be when it comes to our own self perceptions. May there be reprieve surrounded by beauty and time to relax unattended in a garden of your own doing or whatever moment you long for that settles the mind and gives way to peace.

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