"Bright days leave me feeling depressed and alone, exposed; when the clouds are so close you can touch, though, heaven seems very near. How do people live in places where the sky never scowls? The pretty and the picturesque are fine indeed, but give me the sublime anyday: I prefer a landscape–a skyscape!–that expresses the entire gamut of human moods, both surly and sweet."
A new take on the weather. The quicksands of blowing black patterns have swallowed me to where I let a gray day affect my 24-hour mood, I let one negative comment wring me dry, and I stew. Observing, reflecting, and meditating all snooze in the back seat when I grumble; I finally gather enough aggravated creative energy that pours out of me in songs, in essays, in short unfinished ideas. If only I could draw in and expel each and every day. Oh, Balance, you really are the key to success.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Birth and Death
I have piles of dead winter leaves swept to my side fence where they cover small patches of dirt and oyster shells. Through the three-inch-high cast-offs of last season peak green weeds. There are hunter green weeds with flat, teardrop-shaped leaves. There are rich tropical green weeds with flat spreads of sand dollar leaves, and there are kiwi green weeds with small, soft heart-shaped leaves in clusters of eight or nine so velvety to touch. Recently, we New Orleanians had a series of three or four rare overnight freezes. I worried about my knock-out roses in the front yard, but they fared well. I lost my huge tropical plants, although they had seemed hardy enough. And though it really is no surprise due to the nature of weeds, the weeds never died and continue to grow.
I always loved weeds as a child. My dad, of course, hated them because of their invasive nature. But, for that very characteristic, I loved them. The sheer strength they showed by sprouting up anywhere and everywhere, persevering through even our rare southern winter freezes, and their ability to take over any other greenery or even creep up through cement amazed me! Weeds undermine our attempt at straight lines of hedges and manicured lawns; weeds defy the illusion of sought-after structure.
As I observe the fair commingling of crunchy dead laves and sprouting weeds, the silence covers the air like lace. And I think of the cycle of birth, health and growth, illness and decay, death, and rebirth. It reminds me of how aware of this cycle I was in 2007, when my first nephew was born and weeks later, my grandfather passed away. It was the first time I fully realized and understood the life cycle, the first time I tasted of its flavorful balance. Of equal importance, where there is birth, there is death, and where there is death, there is birth.
I always loved weeds as a child. My dad, of course, hated them because of their invasive nature. But, for that very characteristic, I loved them. The sheer strength they showed by sprouting up anywhere and everywhere, persevering through even our rare southern winter freezes, and their ability to take over any other greenery or even creep up through cement amazed me! Weeds undermine our attempt at straight lines of hedges and manicured lawns; weeds defy the illusion of sought-after structure.
As I observe the fair commingling of crunchy dead laves and sprouting weeds, the silence covers the air like lace. And I think of the cycle of birth, health and growth, illness and decay, death, and rebirth. It reminds me of how aware of this cycle I was in 2007, when my first nephew was born and weeks later, my grandfather passed away. It was the first time I fully realized and understood the life cycle, the first time I tasted of its flavorful balance. Of equal importance, where there is birth, there is death, and where there is death, there is birth.
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