reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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maypole dancing. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

wearing a traditional scandinavian jumper, i danced around the maypole. holding a ribbon tethered to the pole, i danced to and fro with other young girls also holding ribbons. it was an ancient spring festival – at an arboretum on the island – and my sweet momma happily got us involved in taking part in it.

may day – the first of may. it seems impossible that we are already at may. time has a way of zipping by while at the same time taking-its-sweet-time. langsam – slowww – one of the few german words i remember from six years of studying the language.

but the return of spring it is and we are both grateful for it, despite its exceedingly stormy arrival.

we wake in the morning even earlier now, the sun streams in on our quilt, the breeze through the open window. everything is greening…gorgeous new-green crayon tones against easter-egg blue sky…tiny buds bursting into leaves, stalks of peonies growing taller before our eyes. the aspen is filling out, the ferns are unfurling, the daylilies are daylilly-ing – they require no help whatsoever.

and the birds and squirrels and raccoons are taking full advantage of our zeal to keep the feeders full. they linger on the top of barney, on the top of the potting stand. they gather in the pine tree next to the birdbath, waiting turns at the water.

and we can hear the call of the cardinals – beautiful song punctuated by sharp chirps. they stick around during the winter; their presence is always reassuring…a sign from the universe reminding me that my sweet momma and poppo are nearby, just on the other side, having slipped from this dimension to the next.

we’ve sat on the back patio a few times now, on the back deck in the sun. we’ve watched these creatures of our yard, narrating for them as they move about. wanting a photo of the cardinal at the birdbath, perched on its side, getting a drink, i grabbed my phone. but i was, regretfully, too late and he took off as i snapped the picture.

it wasn’t until much later – hours, really – as i looked at my photos of the day when i saw this photograph, the cardinal taking off, flying away from the birdbath.

so much better than a static perch photo, the cardinal taking flight – its may dance – its own celebration of the arrival of spring, of renewal, of new life.

we sit in our adirondack chairs and plot out our spring. we talk of our gardens, of an annual flower or two we might choose, of the herbs and vegetables we will grow on our barnwood stand.

it is hard not to feel passion for our very earth watching it come back alive all around us. it is impossible not to take deep, cleansing breaths, to turn our faces to the sun. it is time – for all good things – to dance around the maypole, to take flight.

*****

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the shadows. [d.r. thursday]

we can see the shadows getting longer. earlier in the day, the sun is lower in the sky and fall is on the rise. the wistful-autumn-thing is starting. picking apples and going to the pumpkin farm are on our list-of-things-to-do and i’m pulling out soup recipes, planning ahead. i’m hoping the cherry tomato plants will sustain longer. and the valentino basil has rejuvenated; dinner last night was red pesto pasta – thanks to this very plant. we need to order some wood and i’m keeping my eye out for the perfect mums. and socks made a cameo appearance the other day. blue jeans and boots, the stuff of happiness, are itching their way back into our world, having been buried under summer and no-airconditioning wear. i love fall. and nothing stops the melancholy.

we didn’t sleep again. i’m writing this on wednesday, so last night – tuesday night – was a long wakefulness with a smidge of dozing around 6am. i was aware that i was feeling anxious, worried. no amount of tossing and turning helped. once you are traveling down that road, there are no u-turns. i watched the shadows change in the room, listened to the rain, rearranged my pillows a time or a hundred times. insomnia is a resolute challenger. and, in the middle of the night, every question you have ever perseverated over, ever pondered, that has ever even remotely teased you for an answer is present and accounted for, lined up, waiting for answers or action plans. meanwhile, any even breathing of your spouse, and even the dog, wreak havoc with your impulse control.

the coffee this morning tasted especially good. the day is grey, though the sun is supposed to appear this afternoon. i wrote in my calendar, as i do each day, and was, once again, flabbergasted that it’s just shy of the end of september. equinox as i write and tomorrow we fall deeper into fall. equal parts of darkness and light on this day. that might explain my lack of sleep – equal parts of dark and light – the chiaroscuro of the wee hours – when we would rather languish in light, literally and metaphorically.

a year ago today my daughter facetimed me from the top of a 14’er. it was a scramble to the top, rocky and treacherous. and then, there she was. 14,000 feet up, in the sun, sunlight bathing her radiant face. she panned the camera around so i could see the vastness of it all. mountains and canyon and brilliant uninterrupted light and deep shadow. an equinox perhaps by calendar, but overtaken in any soul-sense by the gleaming luminescence of arriving at the summit.

we each have our own personal night-shadows, building blocks of angst and anxiety, dark caverns filled with life events and life decisions and being wronged and wronging. morning usually helps. it’s when what is real-now shows itself in three-dimension and that which is shadow fades just a bit. the existential questions of the night shrink ever-so-slightly. we look at our to-do lists and pencil in time to take a walk, to hike, to feel the sun on our faces.

we know – despite the neverending pondering of the night – that the questions matter less than the moments. we have learned it time and again – watching the cycle of life, sand running through our fingers, holding mica in our hands. we will, undoubtedly, learn it again.

we know we can make it to the top of each mountain. the equal or unequal division of darkness and light will not stop us. and neither will the shadows. each step counts. we put our faces to the sun and get on with it.

*****

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