Monday, June 23, 2008

Dirt Road

I looked up through the tall green trees at the blue evening sky and said tonight, "you do know that I am thankful God, don't you?" Because there are a great many things to be thankful for, and even in my glumness, I do realize that. Below the mush, there is that rationale. I think that sometimes your heart hurts so much that the only way to block it is to keep moving. It's not a work myself to death type moving. It feels more personal than that. It's like movement - in a car, on a bike, in running shoes, on bare feet, over a road or meadow or stream. That's what gives me comfort. And being alone. I crave that time when I can just be with the movement. No thoughts really. No plans. And just moving. Am I running? (For two miles, yes) But, you know what I mean. I think I might be. It feels though, somewhat ambitious rather than flee-ful. Maybe that's just my justification.

Regardless, I can't seem to think in words. I opened a door that had been shut for a long long time. And now I need to close it, without nailing it shut. I need to fasten it, without glueing the hinges. And that causes me mild confusion. On the other hand, I have been paying attention to my actions, and wonder how far the door was open in the first place. Plenty wide for me, but would anyone else notice? I am still the girl who looks down instead of at. And even when given the opportunity to change that, I slide into that old comfortable invisible position.

We walk again after we run - the spotted dog and I. To cool down. To listen to "Landslide" by Stevie Nicks. To turn backwards and see the dirt road curving up the hill behind us. And I know what I love about this place where I am.

For right now, it belongs to me.

2 comments:

Michael said...

My wife and I have a little joke between us.

Me: "I love you so much, there are no words. Therefore, I will have to use gestures."

Followed by an elaborate pantomime, after which we collapse in hysterics.

Good luck with the door. It hurts to have it open, for sure.

Then again, the hurt reminds us that we're here.

k said...

Good story, MIchael. I like the reminder. And feel good that I was able to open it to whatever degree I mastered. It's all good, but sometime good is difficult. And later, you're glad you fought that fight to do it, and know something different about yourself in the aftermath.