Do you ever listen to the wind in the trees? Not hear, I mean really listen? It makes me feel very small, but not insignificant.
Just small. Comfortably small. I feel like I'm this little cell in a massive living organism, and the sound of the wind in the
trees is the sound of blood flowing through enormous veins. Not a steady flow, but bursts and waves of varying intensity.
Sometimes I think the wind is about to die down, but then it blows harder, and the leaves of the trees brush against each other more and more,..
That's my favorite part- anticipating a calm moment, yet chaos erupts instead. And the trees sway further. And the wind blows harder.
Fragile leaves and branches fall,.. And the blood flows.
The first rain of the season came this weekend. The clouds rolled in on Friday afternoon and by twilight the drops were coming down with
forceful urgency- as if they had been waiting a lifetime to fall.. Waiting a Lifetime to Fall.
Huge drops surrendered their hold on fleeting clouds, and fell one by one to Earth. I stood underneath
the exploding sky to witness the miracle of the falling rain- the first rain of the season.
But today, three days later, the harsh sun beats down on washed rooftops and cleaner streets.
She sat in the calm serenity of the darkest midnight. The smooth black ink flowed readily from the
silver tip of her faithful pen, onto the ivory-colored paper. She held the pen up to the moonlight, to measure the level of
ink and estimate how much more she could write until she had to go inside to get another. Only a tiny sliver of moonlight shone
through the little window. This pen would surely last through the night. She held the pen up for awhile, slowly turning it side to
side to watch the ink flow. She imagined herself shrinking down to a couple millimeters or so, and thin enough to slip through the
silver tip of the pen. She'd slide right through and make her way up in the tube, to go for a midnight swim. Immersed in black ink,
she'd paddle her arms and kick her feet, and once in awhile come to the surface to get a peek of the midnight moonlight.
Then she would drop down, somersaulting backwards through the warm black ink..
Her human-sized fingertips slowly and rhythmically moved the pen back and forth,
back and forth, while her wide eyes watched and her meditative mind flowed with the ink inside.
When it came time to sliver out of the silver tip, her ink-stained skin collided
with the midnight wind and sent chills up her miniature spine. She wrapped herself in her imaginary velvet robe,
thick and blood-red with a giant hood to block out the cold.
Warm and almost dry, she put the pen to the paper and continued to write..
When you were a kid and you were putting together one of those giant jigsaw puzzles-
Did you ever have a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit? It came in the box.
You wanted it to fit. You spent hours, if not days and weeks and months, years, trying to get that piece to fit.
Blisters appeared on your fragile pink fingertips, tears streamed down your face. Hope would come, then go,
then come again then go. It was such an incredibly beautiful puzzle piece and you wanted it to fit in your puzzle.
You knew you'd find its place in your puzzle- with just a little more persistence and patience. But you never did.
At what point did you give up? How much time did you spend trying to get that piece to fit? How much time did you waste?
Or was it an invaluable learning experience- the determination, effort, and faith in the impossible. You didn't want to force it to fit-
that might ruin your entire puzzle. But you wanted it to fit. You wanted to find its proper place because you just knew it fit somewhere in your puzzle..
It was such a beautiful piece- a uniquely abstract shape, beautifully contrasting and flowing colors. And the fact that it didn't quite fit in
your puzzle made it even more intriguing. But you really wanted it to fit. But it never did.
At what point did you give up?
And what did you do with the puzzle piece once you realized it didn't fit in your giant jigsaw puzzle?
The super glue was on back-order. It finally arrived a few days ago, via Fed-Ex. All of it at once-
gallons of it. And I used it all. I took my time. I was careful. I was precise. Like a surgeon. Like a jeweler.
Like a porcelain doll maker. I didn't want to leave out a piece. No. It has to be whole to be strong. It has to be whole to be functional.
So I put it back together. Piece by piece. And I took my time.
Now I'm waiting for the glue to dry. I don't know how long it will take. But it's ok. I'll wait.
I'll wait for the super glue to dry- the glue I layered thick between all the pieces. Big pieces. Little pieces. Medium-sized pieces.
Pieces with sharp edges that cut the tips of my fingers when I picked them up to glue them together.
Smooth pieces that looked like they had been sanded, or weather-worn like the rocks on the seashore that the wind and waves beat themselves against.
All kinds of pieces. Now I'm waiting for them to dry so I can use it again. It has to be whole to be functional..
A weird thing happened today. The sun came out. After a very long cold winter.
A winter that lasted seemingly for years. The sun finally came out today. As if to help the glue to dry.