was something about a butterfly along the back of his neck while he slept. I worried I'd wake him.
On my last day in the little garret studio on the harbor, I walked up to Tiffany's and exchanged a birthday present. What I brought home and wore for my move, and since, was Frank Gehry's fish ring. It reminds me of the bulge and slice of a fish at the surface of water; or of a whale maybe, pressing through the deepest parts of the ocean.
I wonder if a whale is ever homesick, or if it just swims, enjoying only the shape and contour of it's skin within a current. Does it ever turn around, looking for the familiar in the depths of it's passage?
Is it my turn?
Mostly I just follow along, catching shadows here and there, someone else's voice drumming down the quiet.
I will hear the quiet again. Maybe soon. In the garden outside my kitchen door. Among trees and rocks. I'll grow carrots, beans, and rosemary. The Sound is a sweet walk away.
It will be warm and light breezes will exchange small gifts.
Every year I believe that.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Om - the primordial hum of the universe. A traveller's notes on surprising beauty. This blog is growing out of journals started in NYC after September 11th, 2001.
2 comments:
The quiet I seek is not here in New York City. My quiet, my garden, my place where I am surrounded by nature and pura vida is in the Pacific Northwest somewhere. The last two years I've believed I would summon the courage to go and find my quiet. I still believe I will find it, next year though.
Is yours somewhere else too?
Thank you for your post.
My quiet is a person. In his absence I'm closest to him when I'm meditative, or sleeping. Finding meditative ways to spend time also gives me ballast.
Having said that, funny enough, a Japanese farmhouse somewhere in the Pacific Northwest is what comes to mind if I give it space.
I hope you find yours. I hope I find mine, too.
Post a Comment