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Imagination: in three small stories

2/16/2021

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~
One:
All through grammar school,
I imagined I was a deer, like Bambi,
moving through the woods, unseen,
silent as a leaf falling.

The shyest child ever,
and homely, too, with an impressive overbite,
coke-bottle glasses, and ten thousand freckles
I wanted nothing more than to be invisible...
So blending into the background
seemed like a good idea, to me.
It backfired, though.

Looking as I did, all while walking like a deer,
on a schoolyard (of all places)
I was noticed, all right;
for all the wrong reasons.

Imagination couldn’t make me invisible,
but it did, actually, save me.
When reality became difficult,
I’d simply disappear into the woods of my imagination.

A funny thing happened inside that safe place.
I became a watcher. And what I saw was this:
Everybody suffers. Even the meanest people.
Probably especially them.  Some just hide it better than others.

This truth jolted me out of my self-consciousness.
We all struggle. We are all imperfect. Yet, we all belong.
I eventually quit trying to walk like a deer,
but sometimes, I still like to disappear in the woods.

~
Two:
Once I had a job that my heart refused to go to.
I tried to sweeten the pot,
tried to bring more soul and cheer into my work,
because I did needto go,
but my heart would lag behind
like a lazy, old dog.

Eventually, a bridge showed up
in my imagination,
it looked to be woven of flowers and vines,
pretty, but not remotely safe.
It did, however, lead from where I was,
to where I longed to be.

Each time I took a step onto that bridge
it lurched and swayed.
Still, the image held
and I wobbled across
one hesitant step at a time.

Sometimes, I look back and I wonder--
How can one cross an imaginary bridge?

I only know this--
now my heart wakes early,
alert as a hunting dog
ready for work,
every single day.

~
Three:
Four long years, I ranted over a President
who disregarded all that I hold dear,
among other things, air, water, and wild creatures.

Then came this year--epidemics, wildfires,
drought, sickness, isolation, and sorrow.
Politics grew more toxic by the day.

I felt scared, as well as angry. To keep the craziness at bay,
I began imagining a garden in the raw, scarred place
Where Joel and I had cleared dry brush for fire season.
I pictured it alive and blooming, filled with bees, and butterflies.

I’ve dug and planted, watered and mulched. And waited. It has been nearly a year now. My “garden” looks like nothing much, at all.

Green smudges strewn and huddled in the dirt.
I suppose it is still winter,
For my garden, for the world.

But God, I think, takes interest in our struggles.
The rains arrived, at long last.
My first visitor too,
a “Mourning cloak,” flitted through the willows,
chocolate-brown wings
edged with ivory and blue.
Butterflies:
transformation. Hope. Life.

Imagine.

2 Comments

Talking to Nuts

10/7/2020

5 Comments

Yesterday I walked down the hill to feed my ancient, horse, brooding like a storm cloud, when an acorn slammed into the ground in front of me, missing my head by inches. These Valley Oak nuts are big, and they don’t just drop. They shoot out like a stone from a slingshot.

I know Oak trees probably hurl their nuts with such force to propel their offspring towards a fortuitous landing—but I like to think this tree wanted my attention. I just read “The Overstory” by Richard Powell, (amazing) and it clearly affected me.

But what could an old oak have to say to an aging, cranky woman, morose over a pandemic, corrupt leaders, and hot, smoke-filled California skies, day after miserable day?

5 Comments

Plums

8/29/2020

0 Comments

You probably all know the Zen story: the old monk gets chased over the edge of a cliff, by a tiger. As he dangles from a scrawny vine, he ponders the tiger above, and the jagged rocks below… where two more tigers lie in wait. Just when things can’t get any worse, a mouse pops out of the rocks and starts to gnaw at his vine.

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Looking Ahead

5/17/2020

2 Comments

**It’s a strange time to do anything– have a baby, get married, start a business – but I know people doing all these mind-boggling things. Meanwhile, I can barely make my breakfast.**

2 Comments

"Barn's burned down. Now I can see the moon."

4/7/2020

10 Comments

“Barn’s burned down. Now I can see the moon.” — Mizuta Masahide (Japanese poet, 17thcentury)

This week, I took a hammer and tore into my old barn. It was a small barn, so small that a woman could tear it down, mostly alone. After awhile, my husband joined me, knocking down the heaviest beams, but for the most part, it was me alone.

10 Comments

Shelter

3/24/2020

9 Comments

Shelter: Noun, a place providing temporary safety from bad weather or danger

As I sat down to write about my shelter experience, two bluebirds landed on the walnut tree outside my window, drying their wings from the rain. I always get excited about the return of my bluebirds, cleaning out their nesting boxes and adding new ones. Sometimes I worry that they won’t return, but then they do, bringing with them the promise of another spring. Today, though, I can only tell they’re bluebirds by their shape and size. Due to the gloomy weather this morning, they look like grey birds.

9 Comments

Free Days and Sweet Dreams

12/29/2019

1 Comment

There’s something about the days between Christmas and New Years that are my favorite of all. Not much real work happens. Not much is expected of us. It’s a sort of limbo-land between the holy days of Christmas and the start of a new year.

1 Comment

Shadows and Light

11/7/2019

3 Comments

I haven’t posted for a while, because I was confused about my life, and I couldn’t seem to find the words. I’m not sure I do now, but I’m giving it a stab. I often write about water, because it interests me, how it’s both life-giving and life-changing, and the topics are endless. In my last essay, I wrote about the muddy, swift and pretty damn cold water that was swirling around me.

3 Comments

High Water

3/22/2019

4 Comments

“Help. Going under!” This would be a good sign, like the sandwich-board kind, for many of us to wear, during times of daunting change. Then, those on high ground could toss us a line, or shout encouragement from the shore. Life abounds with ways to try to sink us. Strangely enough, others can’t usually tell we’re going under. We look pretty good, even while gasping for air.

4 Comments

Jump Start in Bradley, California

11/5/2018

4 Comments

It’s early November and Central California is still smoking hot, like an overheated griddle, and drier than an old tortilla chip. Our creek is dry, river is dry, well is drying up—and no rain in the foreseeable future. My own wellspring of creativity, optimism, and trust in human decency is as jaded as the news, as withered as the roadside weeds.

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streamriffs.com

Imagination: in three small stories

Talking to Nuts

Plums

Looking Ahead

**It’s a strange time to do anything– have a baby, get married, start a business – but I know people doing all these mind-boggling things. Meanwhile, I can barely make my breakfast.**

"Barn's burned down. Now I can see the moon."

Shelter

Free Days and Sweet Dreams

Shadows and Light

High Water

Jump Start in Bradley, California

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