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2001-05-27 / 11:00 a.m. ~Sunday morning, on the porch~
It's quiet outside, for a change, the sky is blue, the sun is shining, and it's only 70 degrees, on the porch. It's second floor, screened from waist high up, and I sit in my wicker chair, the first piece of furniture I ever bought, back when I was 19, and if I sink down and look out, all I see is trees and sky. A wind picks up and the sound of the new Spring leaves on the birch tree rustling is the softest sound, so hard to describe, but a rush of memories floods my brain when I hear it - suddenly I'm at the lake or I'm in the woods or I'm anywhere, but it's so soft, so green, not like the clicking of Aspen leaves. The pines begin to sway, the needles glistening, the sap alight in the morning sun. Everything is exceptionally beautiful, from here, right now. A bird flies overhead, soaring, in circles, concentric, grooving on the breeze, just flying for the sheer joy, searching perhaps for food. Pieces of plastic, paper, fall from the pine just a foot or so from the porch, a nest I saw a bluejay fashion from scraps she'd found. Falling with the breeze now, and the cats look when they hear the sound. I've dragged them out here, placed them in the sunny spots, said, here, feel that, doesn't that feel great? Doesn't it feel good to be in the sun? And Norma kicks me out of my wicker chair when I get up to take her picture, she jumps and she's where I was, getting comfortable in my spot in the sun - just where I'd sat, getting some sun on my white thighs. Now I hear a stereo, bass booming, I'm not the only one enjoying this day, but the quiet is broken, Norma stole my spot, I'm inside to write it all down. For a moment, even here, even in an apartment complex, even just off the smoggy highway, just here in the suburb just away from the city, there was intense beauty, birds singing, nests shedding, soaring, and the softness of new Spring leaves blowing in the breeze. Last night I met Scott's brother, and he couldn't be more different. I liked him, and I wondered if that was a good thing. He lives in Louisville, not really practical, and he talks of his ex-wife in disparaging tones. He's bitter, has baggage, not stowed away, but on his lap, not even under the seat. Still, he's smart, he's culturally literate, he's almost my age, just short a few months. We watched the game, Game One of the quest for Lord Stanley's Cup. New Jersey lost horribly, 5-0, but I enjoyed their company, just me and the boys. Tuesday I go back to the zoo, for what may become a day after Memorial Day tradition. Once again I'll get to see little Lilly's joy and wonder at the animals there, at the wooded pathways, at the sounds the lioness makes in her lair. I feel so sorry for those animals, kept there, but I know there is some enjoyment, some quality in their lives. I think some of them actually like that we are there to see them. And, the pandas are at least alive - all they do is eat eucalyptus and loll about anyway. I hope the weather holds. Something else: a local TV sportscaster responded to my Personal ad. I'm not sure what to make of that, a TV personality, of sorts, cruising online personals, responding to me, to a picture of a woman in a tie-dye holding a cat. This I must pursue. There is a day outside, and I must find a way to be in it, even if it's to go back outside to my treehouse of a porch and listen to the birds, the leaves rustling and the stereos as they come on and turn off, the people waking, going about their days. Sunday. Holiday weekend. Beauty in everything. Cost of the War in Iraq
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