Smoke and Soot

I love Counting Crows and they have a new CD. So I will add that to the good side of the balance. Along with the chalk pastel in the garage that is half way done and the relationship with my mentee that is so new and fragile. There is all the parks between here and the city to photograph and the churches with stained glass windows that maybe someday I will go and ask to go inside and photograph.
And maybe I will write and garden too.
I have a three day weekend…….. I really need it. My boss hurt her back and sweet Mirium is gone to New Mexico, north of Taos to work the horses and teach the boys to ride. Fun story… her mom calls and tells us they drove the horse up to the remote camps and someone in town sold tickets to watch.
See I knew she was a star and is back in the saddle where she belongs. And I am stranded in a strange life that I both loath and love. I cry out about it and thank Him too for the time to think long an hard about my life and the train wreck.
I found this. I wrote it awhile back… you know how it goes, it’s time.

I am dreaming. The load is tremendous and I only want to lay it down. The tears begin to track down my face, slowly at first then a sob. I sit at the edge of the bed and tell the story, trying to piece it together. I know dreams don’t really make any sense, but the feelings begin to rise up in me as I recall the images that bring them to life.
The rain has stopped and I am in a field face down. I lift my head and I am covered with soot and mud. I prop myself up onto one elbow and look at the devestation. I am in a field that has been burnt by a wild fire. I can still smell the smoke and I see the bleak and charred remains of my life and work in ruins around me. I continue to sob. Up on another elbow I realize I am alive and I am amazed as I remember the fire now. I am soaked to the bone, full of mud and soot. My face streaked and my life in ruin, but I am alive. The sky is hazy still and there is no sound but the wind and I am amazed and relieved. I sit up and it seems as if the ground is spinning. I try to hold on to the earth and wait, putting my head down on my chest and ask myself if this is real. But I am alive and the clouds begin to thin and the mud dries on my skin. I want to laugh. I must be a fright. I am not sure where my children are, but I am alive. I begin to cry softly again. The grass has begun to shoot up among the ruins. It is tender and soft and out of place among the blackened field lined with the remains of the trees that once stood proud and tall and offered shelter. As a child I climbed among the branches and sang songs from the swings they held in their outstretched arms. I look for miles in the distance and see no one. I am walking around, my clothes are grungy and my hair is matted, but I am alive.

Then everything changes.


A house appears. I have a job and I have started to plant a garden, the field is full of bloom but the land is still scared.
I do not know where the gifts come from but they keep coming, my house is full of them and art work I have painted.
No one enters my house although a few dear people stop as they walk along the road in front of the house. They carry with them laughter and smiles and gifts they leave without me knowing, so there is no one to thank.
No one understands the ruin, they cannot comprehend the gifts. I offer no explanation on how the gifts got here or why the devestation.
Then I remember the fire and I freeze in my tracks. I see another figure in the smoke walking up the road to my house. He looks as lost and dismayed as I do. His clothes are blackened and soiled and I begin to cry for him. He is my neighbor and my friend and I realize he has lost everything too. And I remember the fire and the fire is gossip. And I weep.

Written fall 2005