May 15, 2011
Good Sunday Morning,
Peace. I seek it. Actively. Consciously. It does not come easily. In those moments I find it, I freeze, record every millisecond.
I find it most in my backyard, in those spaces there I have created for myself—to recreate myself. I find it sifting dirt between my fingers, parting soil, counting seeds, covering them, watering, feeding, watching for the first push of stems, leaves through soil.
Working there yesterday I needed music. My ipod was in the drawer, under the stereo, fully charged. The earbuds were upstairs in my desk. I got distracted there. Lost in bills waiting to be paid, photographs, a postcard you sent me from the
. Maltese Islands
“This is pretty much how it looks.” You wrote. “Talk to you soon. Love you, Andrea.” You drew a picture of a heart next to your name. I felt the joy you found in that day exploring brightly painted old wood doorways, looking up at window boxes full of red geraniums.
Back in the garden, I had music. I pulled weeds and sang along. I did not care if anyone was listening. The birds had woke me with their songs in the morning. Some frogs began an orchestra of sound. I shared my voice with them. And with Sadie, who followed me around watching.
Sweat began beading on my legs, under my arms. I stood, turned my face to the sun. My cheeks have turned pale, dark half moon circles sit under my eyes. I felt the sun lightly brush its palms around my exposed throat, up my chin, across my lips, my nose, my forehead. I was enveloped, I felt my skin color.
I rolled up my sleeves, knotted my skirt between my legs. Sweat evaporated in the small breeze—nature’s air conditioning. Standing there I sang with Cat Stevens. Peace. My heart was untethered. A white butterfly flew in, floated, wings elegantly flapped as it moved from one green leaf to another, making its way across the garden. It felt like a blessing. I felt tears. I was full of too many feelings to name. As Cat and I ended the song, I realized I had only paid attention to the notes, the way they formed a melody. The notes, the melody faded into background as I sang along “…everything emptying into white.” The butterfly lit on one more leaf, then flew away.
This morning it is raining. Looking out onto the garden, everything looks greener. I ask Steve “Am I crazy, or do the plants look greener, more brilliant in the rain?”
He looks up, ponders my question for a moment, answers “They do.”
I ask him if he knows why. He does not. He thinks it has something to do with refraction and light rays.
I Google “why greener in the rain”. The answer is elemental. “Because plants use water, carbon dioxide and sunlight to create food.” Yahoo answers. When it rains, plants get a lot of water. They rejuvenate. Photosynthesis occurs. Chlorophyll makes food from carbon dioxide, water nutrients and light.
Today the plants have everything they need.
As I sit here and I write to you this Sunday morning, I am listening to my ipod playing through the stereo. Stella is grooming herself on a towel at the end of the table. Sadie is asleep on the oriental rug at my feet. Lisa texted me a picture of Annalise cuddling a baby bear. In a couple of hours I will meet her, my sister Karen, Lisa’s daughter (my great niece Alicia). We are going to dinner at Elliot’s and Mary Poppins at the
I tell myself, “This is all I need.” And try to believe it. I miss you.