large hares bounding slowly, their long bodies arching long and wide
scent of mowed grasses, dry and sharp underfoot
abu & babette's ears, flapping in tune with each other and four foot dance trot
a clear, dark outline of one deer, stilled,
and I stilled as well, viewed in secret, between levee and vineyard
a sense that isaac was on our walks with us
the Napa river, shallow but calling my name
from way way down ravaged river walls
one extra ordinarily grand Great Blue Heron startled by our morning walk,
lifting off immediately, unfurling fantastic wings tucked, and flying, unbelievably, through the river's fallen trees, up up, and disappearing
mosquitoes who will stop at nothing, including socks and bug spray and trousers, to sting me
an almost full moon casting thick silvery moonlight 
and drafting clear shadow outlines of barns and tree canopies
one Royal Blenheim apricot ripening slowly
guiding those I love through a place I love
hundreds of swallows dipping and swooping
over an orange-golden field at dusk
glimmering dried grasses swaying, rocking
adult quails followed by dozens of tiny quailettes,
their tiny head dresses trilling faster than the speed of sight!
babette, arched and exhilarated, tail curlique as a scorpion,
at the prospect of catching a squirrel on the levee
seeing smoke on the horizon that is really topsoil upset by one tractor
barely ripe tomato, eaten, from the summer garden
morning skies viewed through Live Oak and Redwood tree branches
inviting people into the fig church
explaining cardoons to Easterners
tiny bunny, dead, at abu's feet
ground shadows of hunting hawks
listening to the wind before it arrived
eating green almonds
spending a Friday morning with my favorite 78 year old farmer
and feeling the morning go from cool to hot in few hours
cutting open green walnuts, still liquid where the nut meat should be
calamine lotion legs, hot pink exposed under summer shorts
the scent of calamine like camp and grandmothers
an itch that is hot with unbearable-ness
having time to catch up on old New Yorkers
laughing aloud at Jay Raynor with no one to hear me but the dogs
bright sky, bold green grape leaves, dark vineyard in trellis-land:
a three layered painting of opposites, at the same time
dusty shoelaces
sunscreen and still and Irish face reddened
bug bites galore
the quiet of nothing all the day long
a valley of light long after sunset
coyote skat filled with cherry pits
countless acorn hats
inpenatrable black walnuts and their finely dollhouse sculpted interiors
finding the old tractor
dense fuzz of young peaches
green figs camouflaged
one lemon gifted to a friend
seven days without music, or news
late nights with books in hand
long talks with faraway friends
burrs in furry friends' ears
a bird-stripped elderly cherry orchard
going out to eat at Ubuntu and then having more dessert at Redd!
visiting friends at Fatted Calf
mint chocolate chip ice cream from Three Twins
running into the most beautiful man/pastry chef, Gary Rulli, at The Oxbow Market {falling into his green eyes}
cooling the little farm house down with night air
green blackberries reaching out, waterless creek
skyscraper tall eucalyptus trees
freshly painted barns
rabbit warrens everywhere
coconut perfume breeze through fig trees
walking far far away with the dogs
babette stalking, leaping and bounding in tall dry grasses,
psyching out small, hiding, frightened mammals
abu playing a game with me at dusk,
running in wide circles, like hide and seek.
remembering
memory,
a silent movie of every visit, every stay, every walk with the dogs,
every sleepover, every intimate moment,
a whirlwind romance,
a deep friendship,
a geography where my roots lay claim
love.
where my heart is, here.
It's funny how we always look at time in nature as 'time away.' It's only during that time that we realize we have been 'away' for our entire lives... we wake up every morning in an 'away' place, shower and go work in an 'away' kitchen, talk to our 'away' friends. We live away from the reality that is the natural world, and this 9 to 5 (or much longer span of hours if you're a chef) is the real illusion.
I used to think about this often when I lived in Santa Fe. I'd climb up one of my favorite mountains alone, (because it costs so much money to live there I couldn't afford to do anything else in my free time except hike), and look down at that little speck of a city in the middle of the dry high dessert... what an illusion.
What reason does that place exist with its art galleries and real estate when there's no natural source of water to support such a population?
So then, every time I'd return to that illusion I was like Moses walking down the mountain with a new set of commandments from the Almighty... a new set of rules and a new attitude.
Sure, time goes by and we live in our illusion again and become comfortable with it and yes, I have broken some of those 'new' commandments, but everytime I'm out in the trees, or on the beach, or walking through God's territory I am reminded of this, and I scoop a handful of ashes from the Ark to resurrect a promise or two.
Posted by: chadzilla | 19 June 2008 at 07:18 AM