Sunday, April 25, 2010

Good Bye, Yoga Mat

Yesterday: A host of swallows, purple martins I think, by the vivid blue of their backs in flight, arrested me again and again. They kept flying in circles, reminding me to notice the frenzied panic I was working myself into about a particular passage in chapter six that also kept going in circles and getting stuck in its own muddy tracks. It rained on and off all day.

The dark blue swallows seemed to be saying, "There's no cause for alarm. That's how it is with writing. Sometimes you have to go around in circles for a while to find what you're looking for."

Today: I woke to an early morning gale off the bay whistling in the trees and beckoning me out to the porch. The Spanish moss in every tree was whipping in all directions.

I heard the telltale papery slap of eagle wing. At eye level, in the light of dawn, my broad-shouldered companion flew right through the low clear space between the porch and the pinetree with something big in his talons. As he passed the Barbie-leg pine branch (see 4/20's post) the something dropped with a heavy thud at the base of the tree.

I'm still sorry I interrupted the eagle's breakfast, but scroll on to see what my camera found later in the grass, when it was light enough to see what had dropped.

The day was sunny and bright after yesterday's gloom. The wind stayed high, fresh, and dry, making white caps in the water of the bay all day. It blew my yoga mat right off the dock and far away. I breathed in and out. The breath of the universe took the shape of my lungs. I bent to the sun in a yoga pose.

And later still, chapter six practically wrote itself. dkm

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