Skip to content

lost in reverie

November 3, 2012

There is a fine frost coating surfaces this morning, even the backs of the llamas dotting the meadow next door.

The stubble of the cornstalks to the east,

all that remain after yesterday’s harvest when the combine rumbled noisily around at the end of the field only to line up again and chomp down everything in its new path,

seem to twinkle in the morning sunlight.

The light here can only be described as magical.

Perhaps that is due in part to the level landscape rolling east,

allowing sunlight to flood our yard in the morning at the same fleeting angle that always makes the moon seem so much larger when it breaks the horizon

than it will seem once it has risen higher in the sky.

The glow builds in shades of gold and orange becoming ever more intense until it bursts forth in a blinding light that reflects off of every surface in such a way

that it makes the most drab and dreary object glow and become a thing of beauty, if only temporarily.

Sunsets are equally spectacular,

with the sky hesitant to relinquish its hold on the sun as it descends behind the Rockies.

I doubt that I will ever cease to feel the wonder that the light of day brings to this land.

I make my way to the kitchen and prepare the batter for sourdough pancakes.

Brandt sits reading in the wing chair across the room where one cat has given up its place for another in his lap as the sun pours warmly through the large east window.

He is wearing a plaid flannel shirt and jeans and I am momentarily pulled back in time to a similar scene,

one in which a younger, darker-haired Brandt sits at a table dressed in the same outfit grading English papers.

I smile as I notice that his hair, as so much of our lives, has silvered over time.

He joins me in the kitchen and we work side by side, he rinsing berries and setting out plates as I pour the first of the batter into the frying pan.

It is a rare moment when I feel that we are beginning to really live here rather than constantly getting ready to live here.

There has been so much to do, so many small repairs to attend to, so many good ideas that held unseen flaws and needed to be adjusted.

I’ve been a bit of an emotional Alice in Wonderland, one thing making me feel larger and another making me feel small.

It’s time to make my way out of the rabbit hole and reestablish my equilibrium.

I relax and breathe a little deeper.

As we clear the breakfast dishes I look out and see that the baby horses have risen from their morning naps and are stumbling around drunkenly,

heads down to forage around the feed tubs in the hope that the bigger ones have left some wisps of hay behind only they can reach.

Cormac has almost fully recovered from being gelded, one more unpleasant task ticked off the list and left to become a distant memory.

It is the type of fall day that begs something from the oven, so I throw together a loaf of banana walnut raisin bread and run hot water in the sink,

grateful for the opportunity to sink my hands wrist deep into the sudsy water as I hand wash the few dishes I have used.

My mind wanders down paths of how I want to spend my time this weekend:  country walks, bike rides, curling up on the sofa with a novel.

The horses need to be worked, and my studio is the last space in the house to remain unsettled and disorganized.

I ponder why this is–  why I deny myself creative expression in service to mundane and repetitive chores–

when my reverie is shattered by the dull thud of a bird against one of the living room windows.

This is a hazard of living in a house of glass, an unfair trade perhaps for the lofty feeling of living in a treehouse.

I study the ground below, but once again can find no evidence of a creature coming to its demise by mistakenly flying into the glorious reflection of trees, sky, and clouds.

Stepping outside I notice a lingering scent of smoke, all that remains from the fright last night of watching flames lick 20 and 30 feet into the night sky,

flinging jagged shards of light against surrounding structures in an unholy glow that threatened to consume anything standing nearby.

A neighbor’s planned bonfire that presumably burned out of control, we stood watching as the flames died down and faded away along with the thoughts of horror at what might have happened.

It is a different life here, on the one hand slower, simpler, and more reflective, and on the other lived with a sensory intensity that takes me by surprise.

I am often torn by conflicting desires to devote myself fully to this sensory experience and create a new life from it

while at the same time remaining bound yet to the constraints of my previous lifestyle, having to tear myself away from this wonderland and reenter a workaday world that has become ill-fitting and discomfiting.

This timeline is a tightrope that I walk daily, struggling to keep my focus on what lies ahead without looking down.  I do this imperfectly, and at times the rope sways and I find myself off balance.

Today is a good day, though, the rope steady beneath me.

Brandt has gone for a bike ride and there is time for me to accomplish some small thing for myself.

Perhaps I will pull out the camera and indulge my photographic love for attention to detail.

I will turn on some music and sing along, sending the energy of joyful song out of the loft window reaching into all the corners of the rooms below.

Like the squirrels scampering from tree to tree outside my window I will busy myself with the task at hand and release all else for another time.

Here’s wishing you a pleasant fall day filled with little wonders.

Advertisements
2 Comments leave one →
  1. November 3, 2012 7:31 pm

    as i write this comment, i find myself nodding in agreement to all you feel and put into words.
    your life is so much busier but most likely more fulfilling, being able to walk out the door to the gypsy horse pen, to touch your friends, to speak your love to them.

    keep on putting one foot in front of the other….and know that your steps are ordered….for the next right thing to appear….

    • sassysistersink permalink*
      November 4, 2012 12:26 am

      thank you for this reminder.
      it is so true– i am moving in good directions.
      and i don’t mind being busy…
      i just like to do it in a relaxed manner.
      can a person be zen-busy?!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: