Rodin “The Lovers” – a photo I did for a friend years ago in Paris
“i will not die an unlived life. i will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. i choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less afraid, more accessible, to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise. i choose to risk my significance to leave so that which came to me as seed goes to the next as blossom; and that which came to me as blossom, goes on as fruit.” ~dawna markova
I love to be barefoot. Hate having to be covered. Like a little one running around bare bottomed, my feet and toes do much better when they get to be free, loving the feel of cool grass as i run out to the compost pile, the sun-baked cement on a summer’s day, warm sand as i walk down to the shoreline, and (don’t we all) the feeling of one’s feet all tangled up in those of a lover’s. My rebellion of course becomes short lived on mornings like this where I find myself buried in a comforter out of the chill of the house in winter…
I am off for a week-long business trip that both distracts me from current events and disjoins me from certain traditions. I have planned on avoiding traditional holidays as I transition away from DNA this year into something that is better for my soul, but there are parts of the season that I still crave. A warm kitchen with ingredients piled high for sweets. Decorating a tree just lugged home. Fireplaces at the homes of friends. Ella Fitzgerald and John Fahey and Frank Sinatra and Harry Connick and Nat King Cole and Sarah Vaughan and Elvis Presley all mixed into to the background. But hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to the desert and the land of the surreal for six days. And unlike certain parts of the desert, it’s not warm where I’m going. But it will be an interesting way to work without working, play without worry, and chill with a good friend I haven’t seen in almost a year.
So it’s back to packing, back to doing last minute things around the house, finishing up pruning Mister Lincolns and Judy Garlands and Beloveds (my personal favorite since that’s what my name means…), getting them all toughened up for the frost and wind and helping them sleep peacefully til spring. I promised them a weed tree would go away and let them live gloriously next year, and I promised myself to find a way to build a deck out front so that I can sit out and breathe in their aromas, write in my journal, drink lemonade and talk with neighbors.
And suddenly, I am barefoot again in my mind, looking up to see hummingbirds drinking from the pineapple sage, bumblebees plodding through the strawberry blossoms, butterflies floating around the roses. I love harvest, I love hibernating in the chill of winter, but as I get older, the spring beckons me in a way that is of daydreams.
“behold this day for it is yours to make.” ~black elk