Metamorphosis Pt. 6

Black smudges of sharpie & newsprint

Cover my busy fingers. 

And when the 11-on-the-dot sprinklers activate, 

I find another familiar I will depart. 

Giggling half-naked children in the yard, 

a dozen in-jokes with family, and 

the easy laughter of friends' shared absurdity 

all echo in the day's remembrances. 

The new costs so much. 

The New York Times accosts me with humanity's desperation. 

I use its news to keep things from cracking. 

And all the while smudges, sprinklers, 

a series of beats, and messages from a boy. 

Stars & void. Transfiguration. 

Metamorphosis, Pt. 5

My first conscious thought is, I was up too late last night.  It was justifiable, based on the quality of conversation, but still... snooze, please.
In the self-same moment, I hear the rain.  July rain in Seattle.
Now, I'm the girl who loves nothing as much as sun-filled, late-Spring days and who sees clouds as obstacles between her and her view of Rainier--but, today, when I detect the pitter-patter of rain drops, I smile.  It is the most delightful thing.
And now I'm lying half-asleep, half-listening to that rain.  I even catch one brief flash and count 1, 2, 3...7 seconds till I hear the coordinating rumble.  An honest summer thunder storm?  That's a gift in Seattle.
I don't want to get up.  I want to stay under my white covers, listening to this rain forever...
But, eventually the alarm does go off again.  The day makes it's demands and I must respond.  I get up. "Only 20 more 'getting ups' for this job, this routine," I think.
I may be in need of caffeine or be making the thousandth promise to myself to "get a better night's sleep," but today I will carry the rain as a gift.

Metamorphosis, Pt. 4

Being
moved by a Dylan Thomas quote

while the Zimmerman who borrowed
both his inspiration and his name
croons overhead in this cafe
fueled by community rather than corporation.

A reminder that "You can find
beautiful instruments anywhere in the world."

Yes, beautiful conversations with beautiful friends
that embolden my resolve
to embrace mystery and revel in complexity.
Translating Baudelaire direct,
marveling at de Tocqueville,

Dancing away the despair.
Daring to hold both the light and the dark
within my weary soul.
Turn the corner and find beauty again.

Metamorphosis, Pt. 3

It is late, dark, wet and I'm trying to get home as fast as possible.

I am cruising just fine, wipers on their highest speed when an accident up ahead brings traffic to a halt and I decide to detour on back roads to get around this obstacle.  Even though this takes me through an unfamiliar part of the city, I dismiss the map on my phone. So what if it takes a few extra turns.  I should be able to figure it out if I dare to call myself a Seattlite. 

And I do.  Soon enough I'm taking a left at the genesis of Interstate-90.  This bridge will take me home.  If I let it, it could take me all the way to Boston.  I've followed it that way before.  The ends of a road fascinate me.  It's an inexplicable sense that I find every time I go there - where that long of a road runs into the water.  I think it's the Hobbit in me; "The road goes ever on and on..."

And then I'm in the tunnels, moving fast under lights.  Like the movies, I'm driving and weighing decisions - but they're nothing compared to the weight of my heart.  My heart is trying to say so many things at once.

I'm thinking of the future. And past. And of the film I just watched. Of how much heartbreak we can handle. Of the music. Of the parking ticket that's drying on my dash. Of how difficult relationships are. Of what it would be like to get to know different mountain ranges.

Of how things can be light and dark at the same time.

Speaking of... I don't know if this is unique to Seattle, (but I like to think it is) we get these schizophrenic spring days where you can be in golden light, needing your sunglasses and yet at the same time be rained on.  Usually just a system rolling through.  But the phenomenon seems an apt description for the melancholy beauty I see in things.

Thoughts keep rushing by faster than my wheels.

But then, I turn into my driveway.  I turn once again inward to the stillness.