Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Epistle. to: Bernadette Wild Garden

  The nurse had to run back up to the big house for a few hours  - aka the hospital. That meant being off her sweet tether and in some other orbit that was my own making. For the moment I guess. I mean in that moment that goes and is eventually replaced by a hope. And then by another moment. Or what? Alas I asked her before she left. Then I'm not the only one!
  No she said. You're not.
 And that look in her eyes. That one. Yes. I saw it first off and still can't forget it. And I know, it's only been months. After waking up in the recovery room... it's still hard to figure I was dead... and was brought back again to life with the heartbeat of science that costs a fortune and those big electrical paddles you always see in those made for television movies. Else we take ourselves too seriously or course. Where did I go? And the first thing I saw on the way back were those scary eyes. Those beautiful eyes. Green-gray and fluid and set in porcelain and with an effect that seemed to rake in time . Like a crushing apparatus where used machinery gets thrown into for the scrap steel afterwards. I felt I had to move fast. Part lottery ticket if you chanced it. Part weather forecast if you believed it.  Maybe it's only a small testament to feelings but I did fear letting those eyes go and having them walk out the door without me. Even though that happened each day because she was the nurse and I was the client and she had to be on her way... you can't say don't go because that doesn't mean anything... and you can't say please stay...
  And so the wind started to blow. Alas. Like it should!
 And there was a sound outside the house.  And it was a sound that I did not hear. Or a memory of a sound that I wanted to hear.
 A few months ago I cut off a tree limb growing against the house, practically growing into the house, so now when the wind blows the tree limb doesn't scratch up against the windows. And so the sound of not hearing that sound  was the sound that I heard. Or did not hear depending. Yea. It can get confusing. (!)      
 When the tree limb was there it was maddening. Something desperate. Something larger on the outside calling for attention. It was like something grabbing against the house and hearing that was unnerving...  
 How many years ago was it that I planted that tree? There used to be a juniper bush out front. Gnarly and prickly and half dead. I removed that and put the tree in its place instead. And as a tree goes it is unshapely and bent and its crown isn't what you might consider calender material. But the tree grows every year since I planted it. It's like an unruly thought. Maybe that's the satisfaction. It's not perfect by any means. But what do I know? The tree will outlast me unless lightning or disease interfere.
  We should ask the tree and see what it thinks.


Not A Practical Traveler said...

Have you reached that age where the retail people behind counters that you meet in stores consistently refer to you as sir when they ask you what you want?

Post a Comment

Copyright (c) 2011 High Tide at the Orpheum. Design by WPThemes Expert. Modified by Creative Waters Design.