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| Blues and greys |
After a restless, mind-boggling night of mostly no sleep, rising early and heading out into the cool morning air seemed to be the thing to do.
Because of time constraints it was speed walking time, but I just could not resist a few pictures and even a video. The early morning was beyond glorious in blue tones shading to grey.
Before long it was time to head out to the desert for some time with my sister. We went through the items she had pulled out of cupboards and drawers after my mother passed. Identifying old portraits, passing on items so familiar and yet not needed, laughter, sharing stories...it was a pretty full day.
Then, back home to heavy cloud cover and the promise of a storm. Still, I look forward to getting up early again and heading out for yet another wondrous day.
Imagination is such a rich and wonderful thing. Best of all, we all have it and it need not cost a thing. Something wondrous can be conjured out of nothing.
Imagination can go in all sorts of different directions. It can take us into a world of fancy and fantasy; it can bring the past into the present; it can solve problems, write screenplays and novels and poems; it can paint pictures in remembered or fanciful images...and so much more.
Where do we draw the line? How is it that we often find it difficult to go from that which we can visualize, create, conceive to assuming its truth and expecting it to happen? What is needed to transition from the imagined to the "real"?
Commitment? Action? Probably some of both. Imagine you can. Take steps to make it happen. Then, Providence gets its chance; serendipity comes into play.
Begin. 'Cause why not?
For years, go-to reading when the world seems too much or I just need a little lift has been Mary Oliver. Poems, essays...doesn't matter. Each word is exquisite in clarity and joy.
"Tell me what it is you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" How can these words not stop you in your tracks in awe at their impact on you?
"Here in my head, language keeps making its tiny noises...."
And how many times has a woman reading, "For how long will you continue to listen to those dark shouters, caution and prudence? Fall in! Fall in!" known that the words were meant for her? Mary Oliver was a gift to us all, but, over the years, I have encountered so very many women who, when asked who was their favorite poet, answered, "Mary Oliver" without the least hesitation.
"Clouds rolled from the west-then they thickened, the thunder bucked and boiled...."
Yes, Mary Oliver, rest in peace. For you, the storms are over.The world will miss you, but your words, so descriptive and so immeasurable in their impact, will linger on.
