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| i have an unfamiliarity with fall which i sometimes find disturbing. i shared my first eleven years with trees. then there were three and a half years without trees, then two years with trees, two years without trees, and three and a half years with trees between august and early december, january and may. i like trees. but in all honestly, i think they are incredibly awkward. and they block the horizon...which is maybe good because the sky is so big without mountains.
i have a difficult time transitioning to fall. i expect it to be summer then winter. just like that. no bright warm colors, no falling jewels. and i love it. but it makes me uncomfortable.
i try to fit myself into this season that's a different shape and sometimes it works. and sometimes it doesn't. sometimes i forget that trees are abnormal. sometimes i am sure of myself in thinking autumn means gold and red and orange against a piercing azure blue. the crisp air and smell of carved pumpkins, and the crunching of the leaves—that's the way it's always been.
but some days i remember.
i remember that autumn is not falling leaves and bright colors and pumpkins. it's not cable knit sweaters, or corn mazes, or apple cider. i remember something else. something just as beautiful.
the fuchsia colored fireweed begins blooming in august. then the blueberries ripen and the frost comes. crisp and cold under your feet. the streams gurgle as your feet squish four to six inches into the turf. crow and moss berries cover the golden spongy ground. all the grass is dying. then the fireweed dies. the grass in long golden stalks bends and sways in the cold wind. your feet get damp inside your shoes as you gather the last berries. your fingers are stiff and pink from the cold; stained from picking berries. maybe you will see a spider that looks like a berry crawling around your bucket once you're home. the wind picks up and the sea turns grey like steel, but with a brilliant turquoise stripe where casts its fury against the shore. those are the days when the rain falls sideways in endless cascading sheets: thousands of droplets, still frozen at the center, stinging and burning as they hit you full in the face.
then it comes.
my favorite time of the year.
the first snow falls on the tops of the golden brown mountains and the whole world changes.
what was a drab grisaille with siena is now transformed by a glistening magic into a scene rivaling the most brilliant of reds and golds and azure. the earthen colors with which we have all grown weary are covered by a pure shining white. but not fully. the golden grass, still several feet high waves it's golden arms like a liquid crown atop a snowy white head. every morning is like pulling a piece of chocolate from the advent calendar as you watch the white slowly make its way down to sea level. each morning marking its progress, each night checking the window before you go to sleep to see if that one lonely street lamp is illuminating the first flakes to fall down here.
and it may be bitter cold. or it may rain and melt the snow away. but that magic is still there.
some days i miss that magic, and i look to see if i can find it in this place. each place has its own magic. and maybe no one magic is better than another, but i have seen one kind of magic, and there's one kind of magic is still hiding from me...maybe someday i'll find it. maybe someday i won't even remember that i missed what i now call my magic. maybe someday i'll love trees. maybe someday i'll know what real dirt here feels like as it presses between your toes, not lawn dirt, but real dirt. maybe someday i'll be familiar with the birds. maybe someday i'll forget about the ocean, and maybe someday when i hear the wind's voice i won't remember that we were friends. maybe someday...
but not today.
today i am still unfamiliar with the magic of this autumn. | | |
| first of all. xanga friend block is dumb. not to say that all of you who have enabled it are dumb, i would rather appreciate it myself if i weren't still on dial up and not friends with anyone. every time i go to comment on someone's xanga i first have to add them as a friend and then wait for their approval. SO... Meg, i'm glad we're friends and i wish i were better at being friends with you when we are in closer proximity, because you really are an amazing person. maybe i can be better at that this year, even though you won't be AT grace, you'll still be a lot closer than we are at this moment. Seth, you crack me up. Amy, the first time you called me calvin i thought you were talking about the calvin and hobbes calvin. two days ago i watched a movie and began wondering if you call me calvin because i make chicken salad with ham. i'm not really sure what that means for our friendship. i guess both calvins are somewhat "different" so either way it goes... but your face is good nonetheless. ...and now that i'm done ranting about that... it's time for something new to be written on here. yesterday was my last day of work as a lumberyard/paintmixer/hardware girl. one week from tomorrow i will say goodbye to many things including, my father, memories, dreams, hopes, mountains, ocean, and this little land of volcanic ash, baggy hoodies and fish pie. but... according to Eric Applebaum, "All stories, even the ones we love, must eventually come to an end and when they do, it's only and opportunity for another story to begin..." so with that said, allow me to pull out a drawing pad and with a red crayon write this new story a simple "hello". i appologize if you haven't seen Mr. Magorium's wonder imporium, and you have no idea what i'm talking about. | | |
| I thought that growing up would get easier. I thought that people would get wiser...or at least more mature. but they don't. and I don't. So don't grow up. this summer is going by so fast. it is almost July. i have a month and a half left at home. and then i won't be back. maybe not ever. and i'm sad to say that there won't be very many people i'll miss. but i'll miss the adventures, and i'll miss my mountains, the ones i really know. i'll miss the few people who know me. and i'll be glad to be free of the ones who always tell you what would be best for your family when they haven't got a clue. yes, i know it would be much better if my parents got back together. no, i don't choose sides. i have to fight against it, but i cannot live with my own anger, or with them if i do. yes, it is easier to blame it on someone else. and who is keeping track, but how does this fit in with my christianity? no, I don't go to church. and no, I won't. yes, the church has changed a lot in the past three years (do you know why?). yes, my father's ex-wife. and yes, even though you don't know it, I'm his daughter...keep talking about my family. and no, I'm not bitter. and yes, sarcasim is an art. did you ever really think about Jesus being homeless? the foxes have dens and the birds have nests, but the son of man has nowhere to lay his head. then you find him sleeping in a boat. with the wind and the waves. and the fear and the doubt. for a long time my grandparents lived in a motor home. maybe Jesus could have used one of those. i mean clearly things were a little different then, but he was a carpenter, a wagon with a doghouse like structure wouldn't have been that hard to build. and maybe you say that that wouldn't be fitting for the son of God, but was being born in a barn fitting for the son of God? so, just why was Jesus homeless? these are the things that give me hope. Nobody tells you when you get born here
How much you'll come to love it
And how you'll never belong here
So I call you my country
And I'll be lonely for my home
And I wish that I could take you there with me And I will sing His song
In the land of my sojourn -rich mullins it's 10:05 and won't be dark for another two or more hours...good night. sleep tight. and don't let the bed bugs bite...because bed bug bites really are not any fun. just incase you were confused. | | |
| I have too many thoughts and not enough space in which to think them. Does anyone have glow in the dark stars? "I'm glad I never lived next to the water, so I could never get used to the beach. I'm glad I never grew up on a mountain, to figure out how high the world could reach..." -Jon McLaughlin I grew up on a mountain and i live next to the beach. Sometimes I miss them before they're gone. I miss them after they're gone too...especially a little monkey of mine. | | |
| twenty five years. then two years. then a single moment. today the papers were signed and the government regards a promise made before God as disolved. amen. | | |
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