Marmalade in the Morning
The morning sun stretches,
yawning wide over mountain
ridges before slipping back
under a thick grey quilt.
Eager dark clouds push
their way across the day
while I spread lemon and
lavender marmalade over
toasted English muffin.
***
Late Afternoon Tea
Clouds smudged with the
grime of a day’s journey
align like runners carrying
a banner, “Look to the West”.
Blue, crystal blue patches
make way as day dwindles.
My last sip of lavender
and chamomile tea.
July slips off the page and August is spinning. Recent heavy rains pressed stalwart purple cone flowers and yellow-eyed daisies to the ground. Stems no longer have the oomph to pick themselves up. Flower heads are quickly turning to seed, ready for a bird’s feast. Yellow and gold mums begin to appear in sun lit garden spots. Walnuts in heavy green husks fall from trees and the squirrels are running in circles. A waning summer saturates my senses.
On deliciously slow afternoons I ease onto my front porch rocker, a cup of mint, jasmine, or lady earl grey with lavender tea in hand, ready to watch the clouds write stories in the sky. On the blue story board, narratives unfold in subtle puffs, the main character always a giant of a figure – the Michelin man, a prehistoric flying fish, a fiery dragon with three hind legs, or a massive amoeba swallowing every creature in its path. The hero in the story can transform its powers with a passing breeze. The Michelin man sprouts wings; with a single wave the fish becomes a fleet of sea horses. Remember Poppin Fresh, the Pillsbury dough boy? He rides in on a magic carpet, warning of an impending storm. A clueless puppy flying on all fours plays nearby. My cloud stories have a Hallmark ending, every one playing nice with everyone else by the time it is over. Wait long enough or hardly any time at all, the scenery changes and another story begins. Nature promises an endless narrative.
I am discovering that the wisdom of aging comes with a slowing down, prompting me to sink into the moment at hand. That’s how I began to befriend the sky, conceiving of its presence as an immense blue canvas on which forces of nature paint an accounting of the day just as it is happening. The artist’s pallet holds the elements of light, wind, water, and temperature and produces not simply a representation of life as it is occurring, but the very reality that gives shape to my day, sometimes my very mood. From dawn to evening, night fall to daylight rising, the sky is my protective shell. I count on it being there – and it is – even if I don’t give this a single moment’s thought.
Gazing up at the curved canvas I am reminded of the constancy of change in life, the subtle ways my day, my world is being reshaped. Approaching fall in the mountains, it is difficult not to notice the dense fog that hangs over the early morning. I begin to anticipate, like clockwork, the warmth that will lift the cloud, unveiling the stretched blue fabric of my day. Today the clouds spread like a bed sheet, hanging low and teasing me with its dense gray appearance. Stratus could up to pranks. Will it rain on the roofers and then their work day will stop?
I favor the fairy streaks of high cirrus clouds that produce a light airy step in the day, but it only takes a turn of the head and sky is filled with white puffy cotton candy, the cumulus clouds that appear like mounds of whipped cream. I can quickly fall into my childhood memories, lying on the sand at the beach, naming the clouds by the images they depict.
One of my favorite Charlie Brown cartoons depicts Charlie Brown, Linus, and Lucy lying on the top of a hill. Lucy says “If you use your imagination you can see lots of things in the cloud formations. What do you see, Linus?” “Well those clouds up there look to me like the map of British Honduras…that cloud up there looks a little like the profile of Thomas Eakins, the famous painter and sculptor…over there …the impression of the stoning of Stephen…the apostle Paul standing there to one side.” Lucy replies, “That’s very good…what do you see in the clouds, Charlie Brown?” “Well, I was going to say I saw a ducky and a horsie, but I changed my mind?”
It is all a matter or perspective, isn’t it? Now I see great tears in the blanket that has hung overhead all morning; the brilliant blue canvas reappearing. My life is not separate from nature’s painting of the day; I am encouraged by the change that constantly takes place; I am delighted with the beauty, grateful for the warnings; overwhelmed with the thought that this protective embrace has been present for all generations of peoples. My ancestors stood under this sky. Now that’s a story I could tell.
How About That 