July 29, 2012

cool breeze

It's still July, I remind myself as I sit in the park getting goosebumps.  A storm is blowing in over our quilt & books, and those who came for the free concert are looking about them, considering.

A man stands at the end of parked cars, hands lifted toward the setting sun, shoes on the grass beside him.  He prays, seeing more than we can.

The clouds lift till we think we're in the clear ... then heavy drops begin to dot our legs.

We fold the blanket and retreat, rolling windows against the rain.  White-haired women raise lawn chairs overhead, folded in lieu of umbrellas as they walk back to their neighboring homes.  The a cappella choir arrange themselves under a pavilion and carry on.  A remnant fills the picnic tables; some stand partly in the rain to hear the hymns.  The singers smile.

"Join in," the director gestures when they start Amazing Grace, and people do, in four-part harmony, effortless.  Mom with tiny daughter.  Young family.  Man with a cane.  Middle-aged couples.  Us.

After another song or two, we leave.  Drive through the country, stop for an ice cream cone with all the locals, the cloudburst over.

It's hot July, but a breeze is blowing through.

July 9, 2012


I knew I was stuck when I finally had a chance (encouraged by my Farmer!) to get into the pottery studio and I didn't even want to sit at the wheel.  I dug some clay out of the reclaim bag and smooshed it like a lousy stress ball.  I made a cracked, ugly pinch-pot.  Braided a lopsided braid.

Then I did what I finally realized I'd wanted to do all along:  slam that clay down as hard as I could.  Felt good.

I talked with my potter friend while I mismanaged the clay, and then left.

: : :

I've been waiting on my blog, too, checking in every couple of days to see if anything had maybe changed in my absence.  But with nothing to say.  Nuthin'.  Not even for my "what's for supper", which should be easy enough to keep up to date.

I'm still stuck.

Not sure when I'll come unstuck (or - oh dear - unglued? unhinged?!).  But I'm still here ... wherever "here" is.

: : :

{This reminds me of when I'd call my little sister and get her answering machine.  She used to have one of those machines with an actual tape in it, I think, so that you only had an allotted time for your message, and then you got cut off.  So naturally I'd try to fill it up, then call back and just pick up where I'd been interrupted.  Maybe chastise the machine's bad manners.  Just filling up space, till she'd pick up - or for her to laugh at, later.}

: : :

This post, I'm just marking time.  Documenting the nothingness, if you will.

And I have every confidence that I'll read it later, and laugh - because something better will have come to pass.  The fog will have cleared, and I will see again.

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