I wrote this yesterday evening and hesitated posing it. Not for any reason, just did.
Yesterday was the kind of day, had you come to the high desert, you’d want to linger for a bit.
Today I want to put it up as a reminder to self, if nothing else. Today is windy, very cloudy, and spitting icy rain.
Today, right now, I’ve hit a moment when the sun is shining, the desert spring is mild and sweet, my heart is dancing across the breadth of the Mojave, and I’m ready to settle into what is.
By tomorrow, the storm clouds may roll in. They probably will.
Still. There are moments in my life that I never forget. Visually, a freeze frame. The earliest I remember is a Midwest breeze making green leaves dance above me. Green and golden sun lights. Leaves sparkling like jewels. All I remember thinking is something like “this,” and a deep sense of well-being.
Freeze frame. What makes me feel free and joyous.
Years later, talking about this with my mother, I realized this must have been a very early memory. She used to put me in an old-fashioned baby buggy under the trees that lined our street in our Midwest river city. She’d sit on the porch and have a cigarette and keep watch over me.
People tell me that it’s impossible to have such early memories. My psychologist daughter tells me that. Well, okay. I also had a recurring dream in my childhood of my birth. Maybe I’ll talk about that some day.
People can tell me it’s impossible and all I can say is I know what I know. The memory is there.
Again, comparing notes with my mother, I know I have a strong memory of an occurrence from my second year. It’s just a memory, maybe not one of those freeze frames. Or maybe it was. It was joyous mischief. Joy often figures in to these beautiful, indelible moments.
I have a collection of them.
They guide my life.
So today. Sunlight, refreshing breezes, driving across the Mojave as I went from one end of the valley where I live, along the mountains to the Antelope Valley and back. Mountains crawling across the landscape on every horizon. And again, “this.”
All of the embracing landscape was beautiful. So much bliss, I even loved the Stater Bros. truck that moved past me on Highway 138.
Am I ready to face whatever the summer brings? The immediate change in my financial security? The loss of income? Probably not. Am I ready to face these medical challenges? The car about to break down? The lack of job security? Probably not. And yet, today is one more whisper and caress from the universe, telling me “this.”