August 11, 2012

Early this morning, several birds were holding court outside the window, rather like a family at a reunion, all talk, all the time, mostly quiet with the occasional punctuation of a louder comment.  I lay there listening and wondered what they could be talking about but at that hour my imagination failed me and I could only hear the sounds as a greeting to the pink morning.  Somewhere out of sight the sun rose and turned the sky for a little while to the pink of the houses across the border in Juarez, the ones you see on a hill from the highway, dazzling in the brightness.   Every time I see them i have to smile, they are so cheerful and not just pink but bright yellow, deep turquoise, sky blue, even the occasional lavendar or rose one.  They are cheerful beyond measure, even the dust of the roads and hard times cannot diminish their good humor.  Sometimes I think that's why they are those colors, to make people smile, and it works.

I saw the fastest squirrel yesterday; it streaked across the yard and practically flew up the crepe myrtle as if something really very scary were chasing it and it was running for its life.  It vanished so far up the tree I could not see it after just a second or two, and I saw nothing that would account for its burst of speed.  Perhaps it was like a cat, who suddenly has a burning desire to be in another room, and leaps up and races through the house until it finds the spot that was calling it where it collapses like nothing happened and falls asleep.  Still, that was an amazingly fast squirrel and I kept looking for awhile just hoping to see whatever spooked it.

The clouds this morning are gray and billowing, like distant smoke slowly covering the blue.  Yesterday storms got pretty close but faded away before arriving, probably the same thing today, with times of cloud and sun in about equal portion.  When the clouds thin, the slowly brightening yard is kind of like a magic trick, lighting up the way an old oil lamp does, the light tuning up gradually until there is more than enough to do whatever needs doing.

The poem this morning is odd, but I'm a sucker for poems that start with light . . .

In This Light

nothing and nothing

gets by you, but I get

so distracted

that my notice

has been put on notice

for birds and for traffic

For instance,

the constant

slap of the sound

of waves

against gutters

gets by me

Grass stain on my hands

from falling down

at the hospital

gets by me     Physics

Sequined dresses

The Olympics get by me

Meanwhile,

the mountains are,

so far, only distant,

and some days

I am even making my way

through them

with my pants on,

which is lucky,

though at other junctures

sunflowers and pine tree

needles     my arms

in full blossom

as you appear

around a corner

kaleidoscopically

The day looking up

between us

pink clouds

Matt Hart

I'm often distracted by . . . oh, just about everything so I get that feeling, and I like the part about what gets by him, though I'm likely to notice a sequined dress as I like shiny, and mountains here are not distraction, there not being any, but the thought of them lurking out west is sometimes distraction enough.   My arms in full blossom . . . sounds like a hug, yes?  And the day is looking up . . .where else can it go, only up until it disappears, and then soon, it will rise again.  I like that about days, they keep coming, through everything they just keep marching on, even the most horrendous news doesn't stop them, even the most intricate beauty doesn't, no matter what, whether you are here or not the days keep looking up and there is some comfort in that, and in the pink clouds among the pink houses of morning.