Clouds, and a List

The clouds today have been so amazing!  Right here, we had just come down the little hill, through Gladys's gate and out onto the road.  Wow!  To the North was a storm!  We had been on the other side, with a hill keeping us in the sunshine.  These dark, roiling clouds were aimed right at us.  I struggled out of the truck for the photography, as the thought of leaving this undocumented was more painful than my mangled ankle.

Doggone it!  Everything was going hunky-dory, and wham!  In a flat second I was rolling around in agony, cussing.  Emerson saw this as the perfect opportunity to romp on me, and jumped right in the middle of my (what? I don't even know what side I was on!), anyways, he took the moment to kiss my face.  Luna did, too, though with a little more discretion, as she knows what it means when I am flopping around on the ground, swearing.  Wayne was cutting wood, had a nice little pile to go, and I headed with the dogs down a steep, paved piece of the road.  Maybe I stepped on an acorn?  At the moment I knew it was all over: I had just called Luna back, Emerson charged ahead.  And then my left boot toe caught and as I was going down, God said, "Flip girl, or your ankle is toast, and I mean burnt."  I did.  I flipped over and lit on my knees and only partially ruined my ankle, thank you, God.

I love this kind of weather!  We were in the sunspot, which was splashing up the hill, and those clouds just kept coming!  It's magical.  In the bleached grass from last summer there is a riot of new grass, and very quickly we will be experiencing waves of wildflowers.  We never have to wait for Spring, she cannot wait to get here!

Buried deep in this post is a confession:  Earlier this morning I was feeling sorry for myself, etc etc etc, blah blah blah (I do wonder how Wayne listens sometimes.  Maybe this explains that faraway look, or the "Huh?") and I said, "WHAT WOULD WE DO IF I BROKE MY LEG?"  While at the time I was using this as a purely rhetorical question, even at that moment I gasped and said, "I don't mean that!"  Was there a quiet pause?  I wouldn't know, I talk too much sometimes.

Motion is the significance of life, and the law of motion is rhythm.

Hazbat IInayat Khan

I spent some time in the rocking chair, with my foot up on the hassock.  I watched the clouds race shadows up the face of the hill.  I watched the hill in front turn dark, with gray trees and red power poles, while the hill in back was bright, illuminated gold with flashing silver pines.  I watched clouds, white and pretty, frame a blue line at the top of the ridge.

It's a cliche:  One must hurt one's self to slow down, to access tears that are just beneath the surface, held back by a good day, or new hiking boots.

It's a cliche:  Stop and smell the roses.

Often I think that I am so slow that a slug can get ahead of me.  I sip my beer, nibble my dinner, think and rethink whatever needs a good analyzing.  It takes me hours and months to finish a quilt, or revise a poem.  I like to hang in a conversation, draw it out, leave it unfinished so we can take it up again, like braiding several wide, colorful grosgrain ribbons into a long ornament.

So, Wayne took my list to the store:

1. Ice cream.
2. Cream for coffee.
3. Butter for cookies.

xoxoLC