Preface: The writing bug has bit me hard this time, I'm constantly inspired and could probably write 24/7 if I allowed myself. Most of what I churn out isn't worthy of sharing but I thought this one was. Warning: I'm going to wax poetic and get all existential and stuff, as I'm prone to do lately. You've been warned.
The storm has passed leaving some fiery, amber filter in the sky, drenching everything around me in the warmest light I have ever seen. The scent of rain and seawater hangs thick in the humid air, though I stand at least 1,500 miles from either coast. I picture how far the winds must have pushed this air; what beautiful landscapes it has blown across, picking up and carrying off bits of it all, like tiny souvenirs along the way. How many people in far off places have paused to breath in the scent of this same air? It seems it’s never enough to just experience a moment like this; I must try to capture it and take it away with me, as if I could ever own it. My mind searches for the proper words to paint this picture, as if such words exist.
I take notice of the white clapboard siding on this slanted old country house, the dark green stalks of fledgling corn across the street bowing in deference to the wind, and the clouds suspended above the field like strings of cotton balls. All bronzed in a soft warm glow, as if God were a director lighting his set to film a most romantic scene tonight. Out back the setting sun fans its light through a cluster of clouds and tree branches onto a meadow dipped in honey. The wild grasses sway and swirl in unison, like tall dancers stretching this way and that, their delicate grain seed tips reaching like hands toward the heavens. Leafy green vines spread out and curl among batches of colorful wildflowers most people would call weeds. Even the Weeping Willow seems joyful as its branches flow in the breeze like jellyfish tendrils in underwater currents.
From the woods to the left a White-tailed Deer emerges, a doe. The wind comes to a halt at about the same time she does, giving the illusion that time has stopped. For a moment she looks me in the eye, but has little concern about my presence as she continues on, grazing her way across the field. Then she disappears into a stand of trees leaving solemn stillness in her wake. This-- this is a place to rejoin life, to forsake the modern world, if only for a little while. Let the fresh air find that stillness inside of us.
I abandon my search for the right words now. Closing my eyes I take a deep breath, as if to further imbibe the moment, and imagine others, long gone, who've inhabited this same patch of Minnesota land. Native Americans, European settlers, my great-grandparents, and my grandfather-- all standing before the same sun, the same meadow, and experiencing the same sense of awe. I imagine if they whispered their secrets into the same wind I could hear them. ~
Copyright ©2010 Angela Schofield
P.S. if you like this you should check out my word-licious poetry blog :)
