Sun passing through a mini-Tibetan prayer flag, hanging in my classroom window, forms rainbow blocks on my desk. One moment they are brilliant squares of red, green and gold. The next moment they disappear with a passing cloud.
On Monday morning I drove to school with the Super Moon visible through my windshield and the Rosy Sun rising in my rear view mirror. They tag teamed me the entire 25 miles, up and down the leafless hills between home and work. I remembered the day my sister died and full arching rainbow across the highway at the halfway mark.
Walking in the woods on dried leaves and slippery pine needles the rays came sideways through the tree trunks. It was only three in the afternoon, yet the promise of an owl felt almost certain. Looking up the conifers, to their usual pitchy perches, no big eyes greet me.
Ten at night. I take Cora out the back door for "the last pee of the nighttime". I bend to unclasp her lead from the post, as I hear them snort, stamp and start to leap. Looking up I see the white tails rise and hold her collar tight as the deer flee my leafy dooryard. I clip Cora into her tether, go back into the kitchen to retrieve the beautiful multi-colored sugar pumpkins that we'd used for centerpieces on Thanksgiving. They will make a sweet winter treat for the returning herd on a less moon-lit night.
Clouds stack together in ridges like hard sand after the tides gone out. The wind is moving fast above, while there's barely a breeze on the ground. The blue tide pools between the grey-white mountains lend themselves to the idea that the days will start to get longer again, soon. The candles and Christmas lights chase away melancholy on these dark days after sunset.
Sounds of the heater filling up with hot water and an airplane flying high overhead are all that accompany me while I wait for my next inspiration. I've placed a blanket over my legs and haven't taken off my coat as the house is cold after being left empty, except for Cora, all day. Now a large V8 is down shifting towards a curve in the road by the cemetery.
Snoring dogs, sketching boys, pinging computers and cellphones. All else is still in this house. My mind is only receiving and not leading. After five years of meditating, I've become faster at sweeping out the noise of the day. Not everyday, but most.
My eyes are dry. The skin on my hands is becoming the parchment paper of my Mother and Nana. The veins are rising between the same tendons, too. Each generation twins the last and too fast.
Time to play taxi. Taking teenagers to and fro. Seems I'm on the suburban carousel of cocooned kids who don't want to drive cars. Yet when it's behind me, I know I'll miss the candor that transpires when I wore my chauffeur's cap.
Good night, dear reader, good night.......
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