This is not 'gleaned', but its posting is certainly 'prompted'
by Winnie's 'Storm' poem today. Perhaps such things should be
posted on another Blog such that each retains a sort of
priviledged indentity. Certainly I would prefer that CF
be restricted to 'braided' poems based on a previous 'thread.
This is prose and written eight years ago -- and never shared,
even with siblings who would not understand
some of my feelings for my previous wife
of 36 years -- now a dear friend
as in the beginning
by m'lady Em.
Where to post?? move as thee will
THE RAIN ALONE
The most profound smell in all the world is that of fertile soil welcoming the rain! Here on the high plateau I know it can signal instant birth, with each drop of the meager 7 inch per year offering treasured and utilized. I recall as a child seeing flowers bloom in a matter of hours after having lain dormant for many years. With the new aroma arising from the earth the fragrance of the sage- brush, pine, and squaw-carpet seem intensified. Oh, hear the thunder roll and grumble. There! A finger of lightning feeling its way to earth, branching, searching. One thousand-one, one thousand-two, one thousand three ... Wow, that was close. Maybe it's not so safe here under the cedars.
I remember our excitement when we found this grove eleven years ago. How did they get here? There is not another cedar within a hundred miles; only here in the shelter of one small canyon, protecting a tiny spring. Today they hide me from the rain, the interlocking branches forming a natural thatch. The peaceful incense from the towering ruddy trunks is masked by the gentle breeze and intrusive scents from the outside world. Our special world. I can almost see you there lying in the grass. Those memories I always carry with me. How we held together, after, and watched the clouds form in the high reaching cold layers above. Perhaps if we had returned here more often ...
I wish I could tell you of the quotations I heard from the life of Mother Teresa.”
“Love is not a feeling; it is a way of acting toward another.”
“Let each who come to you leave with greater happiness and a sense of well being; they will know it in your smile, your stance, and in your eyes.”
“So simple,” I muse. “Remember our most successful business where each employee was instructed ‘insure that every customer leaves happier than when they came in.’ Why should it be any different in normal life? Why do we work so hard to make things difficult, and in the process hurt those we cherish the most? Why can’t we just stand in the rain and wash all of our pains away, down, down to the oceans of our birth? Could a new flower then burst forth in our hearts every day? Would I have the courage to make a gift of the blossom to you each morning, or perhaps evening as the heavens bless us with a stained glass view of our earthly bond? Probably no sunset tonight! Only mist, and perhaps the full moon allowed to peep through the clouds, watching me. The time should be right for an amazing sight with the dawn, the sun fully visible in the East with the moon still round and bright in the West. I shall climb the mountain early to watch. Oh yes, always the mountain to climb! It never stops. Life will cease if I don’t keep climbing.
There! The last of the stones is in place and the dam restored. I hear your laughter, just like the first time I tried to capture the tiny pool. The stream from the spring was barely visible through the grass, scarcely an inch across, but certainly a desert miracle. Sadness, as always, that the rivulet disappears again only five yards down the slope. So short and ephemeral, just like our lives. Yet in its brief passage does it not provide life for these towering trees, fern, and even the pea-sized frogs playing in the moss? But without the pool I couldn’t see the ripples swell out from each slow drop of life oozing from the rocky cleft. We rebuilt that dam many times over the years, pebble by pebble. Red, yellow and quartz white. You found most of the right stones and I placed them gently in position. Was that the right balance? We both knew that the dam would slowly fall apart without our care, but it didn’t detract from the joy, and necessity, of protecting the pool.
There! The basin is almost full once again. Your glistening pebbles carry a memory, each by each, and the stream breaching the top tinkles almost silently towards its fate in the rocks below. Where is your laughter?
Strange, I found myself just now reaching back so that you could press another pebble into my palm. Oh, would that the pulsing, ebbing waves from the shimmering pool spread out into the world and find you, touch you; wash away your fears.
Think of it. The rare rains on the peaks above will trickle ever so slowly through the cleansing sands and rock to this spot. Years perhaps. Hiding? Waiting? What clock determines when the tiny, pure drops will weep from the earth? Is this spot just for us? Is it part of some great plan that we, now I, preserve this spot? I have accomplished so much, had an effect on so many. Yet, it is the joyful knowledge that someday another may find this spot, and pick up the work of rebuilding the pool, that stirs my heart. Who said, ‘we all have a purpose in life, if only to serve as a bad example?’ At least here, together, we did better.
How long have I been here? Alone! Yes, but not lonely! Such a difference. But enough of this sheltered spot. The mountains call. Climb - climb.
No! Not today! Today I am going to dance in the rain.