gaping pumpkin-faces on the porches i pass by

5 10 2006

the camera could have caught them; i almost took it with me this morning, to photo-essay fall a little, but i wanted to move faster and more freely than its metal weight would have allowed, and anyway most of what i want to keep it has no way to capture:

the chill of brisk air stinging my throat like climbing lee street, my breath a cloud of fog, to look down over blacksburg, the cemetary still frosted in shade, the drillfield melted vivid green; like climbing into the car in scotland, cold fingers on the door-handles, tea in our bellies & sometimes the only food other than bread and chocolate we’d have for the wandering day

the muddy-sugar smell of crushed crabapples and aspen leaves, and the pine-mint tang of black walnuts streaking their ochre across the path

the tug against my shoes of leaf-curls still wet from last night’s rain clinging to the treads as i push through their dense, damp piles

the particular blended scent of woodsmoke and bright sun and the rainstorm several towns west of here

the arc of my shadow across the milky-orange canopy of a turning maple’s under-leaves, projected from the sun’s reflection in a dark puddle

the restless chatter of the ducks, who know today will grow warm enough to stay through, but tomorrow mightn’t

the muscled struggle of the blue herons, one and then the other, launching awkwardly from the cold ground to climb into a liquid glide behind the yellow trees

the dancing diamond-rush of sunlight across the pond, as the grasses on the bank bend in the opposite direction

the crowd of geese in silhouette disappearing across the one cloud in the sky behind me as they and i leave the pond together, faster than i could have pressed the button; i’d have missed the show entirely if not for their brassy announcement-of-intention:

the southlands call. in the fall all distance is an allure & an intoxication.

i think there’s a point past getting over things, where you understand that you’re simply different now. i think i’m always going to care less than i used to do, and cry more easily anyway.

in any case, the camera can get this: today’s the day that the sun’s path through the sky has shifted enough in honor of the changing of the seasons that it hits the prism in the kitchen window & fills the room with rainbow light.




2 responses

5 10 2006

Beautiful: the photo, the words, the perspective. It all feels very healing. I need to try that.

6 10 2006

i think there’s a point past getting over things, where you understand that you’re simply different now. i think i’m always going to care less than i used to do, and cry more easily anyway.
I was surprised, after my divorce was finally final, and I was actually as on my own as I had for so long felt, how much I didn’t care about so many things any more. I cried – for a whole year before final and for several months after, but I still find that nothing touches me deep in my core like so many things once did. It’s as if that part of me is all closed. I knew I would never trust that way again, but I didn’t count on the sort of numbness that came with it. I was indeed different, and I have been different ever since. There is no going back to the who I was before and I am still uncertain about what i want to/can/should be now. In some ways I feel bad because of what I don’t bring to my current relationship – those things used to make up, or so I thought, for the rest of me – my many shortcomings. I cry for silly things, and can’t even take in other things because the sorrow would overwhelm me. As hard as it is, I hope you will also be able to see the prisms, and the baby-things, and leaves squooshed up and all the things you see. I hope you can always keep your heart open. These things you see, that you notice and take the time to take in – those things are special and important and keep you healthy.

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