She could barely see the house in the distance. Even enshrouded in mist, it still looked like she remembered. Would it smell the same, she mused as she splashed along the muddy path. From half a world away she had imagined this day wondering if it would ever come. The recent rains hung in the afternoon sun, dripping from the grass that slapped at her tall rubber boots. She remembered the last time she had crossed this field aching with fear that it might be the last time. Now she felt a strange mixture of anticipation and nervousness. Had they both changed? Could four years thin the bond that had shaped her? She neared the door and hesitated outlining the worn door knocker with her finger. She smiled at the memories of that bronze horse head. And then she tapped out their secret pattern and opened the door. The familiar smells of coffee brewing and almond cookies baking brought tears to her eyes! “Grandmother! Grandpa!” she called her heart bursting!
The scent of piñon pine and the burning Christmas candle evokes the spirit of every Christmas past. Bing Crosby’s White Christmas weaves through the excited shrieks and high-pitched voices of little ones. Sparkling white lights reflect off silver tinsel and reveal keepsake ornaments hung deep inside the tree whose bristling needles reach out to enfold me. Home where iced Peppercockers and warm hugs await.
I could hear the cow bellowing before I could see her. I came over the rise of the rock and peered down over the edge. She was on the smallest of ledges, and I glanced around hurriedly, trying to figure out how she came to be there. Her hooves scuffed in the shallow layer of red sand as she shifted uneasily from side to side. She bellowed again into the stiff wind, her plaintiff cry carried hopelessly into the canyon beyond. After speaking soothing words to the trapped animal, I turned and ran back toward the path hoping her owner might be nearby. But I knew that cows often wandered this land alone. The random fence lines marked the borders of family land claimed long ago and the cows wandered freely in search of rare patches of grass in the expanse of sagebrush. No one in sight, I pulled my cell phone from my back pocket. Does Search and Rescue help with stranded cows I wondered as the ring continued in my ear. It was dark by time I got down the mesa. My hands were skinned and they cramped up as I recalled pulling those heavy ropes in tandem with four others. The sling around the young cow’s belly held as we slowly inched her up face of the sandstone cliff. Once over the top edge to safety, the sling buckles clanged and scraped against the rock beneath her. Her eyes were wild with fear and she panted as she lay on her side in the binding canvas. Then freed at last, she wobbled for a moment on shaky legs and then trotted off in the night with quite a story to tell the herd.
My head blares logic all day long. Reality viewed through observation Decisions reached via pros and cons Linear Beginning to end Straightforward Unquestioned though sometimes impulsive
My heart aches and sings Senses and perceives Leans in listening Watches and wonders Stays open to possibilities Loops and weaves Sometimes impulsive, always reaching to know more
Peace is somewhere in between. In stillness, the two can speak. And then invite a Third.
“I’m just speechless! For you to come all this way for my birthday is such a gift! And you’ve arranged this lovely lunch with exquisite wines and delicate desserts! I’m overwhelmed by your thoughtfulness! Over the years I’ve gotten to know each of you, but I never dreamt that we would someday sit together! You have moved me and shaped me, helped me understand myself and my family in myriads of ways. I’ve gone back to you time after time knowing there was more to learn. With you, I always found a kind of respite from my loneliness, a break from my demanding yet monotonous life. Our interludes restored the balance I desperately craved! Thank you again for coming to celebrate with me today. Anne of Green Gables, Emma, Jane Eyre, Precious Ramotswe, Cynthia from Mitford, and Hermione, I am deeply grateful!
She sat on a stump in the Aspen Grove kicking the fallen leaves with her converse tennis shoe. Her fingers traced the ruts in the bark below her, the only tactile connection in her loneliness. How could she be this homesick when she had dreamed of getting away from annoying brothers and nagging parents? Her hair brushed her wet cheek as she glanced up at the glowing yellow leaves rattling above her in the wind. And then she saw it. First a smudge that passed as a cloud, but now coming closer and accompanied by a fluttering sound like a flag flapping. She stood, poised to run away but her curiosity outlasted her fear. The gray whirling dervish spun before her eyes and crumpled just feet from where she stood in the Aspen glade. “Grandma?” she exclaimed as the kind eyes peered out from behind yards of fabric. “I thought you could use a familiar face, my precious granddaughter.”
She glanced quickly in the rearview mirror, watching the small yellow cabin grow even smaller as she pushed her foot harder against the pedal. She felt her heart drain away, left behind with them. How long before she saw them again, she wondered. Setting off on a new adventure was not without loss.
