I hear a sound, reverberating, like a drum with poor memory.
A thing that the wind thumps again and again
against some other object the earth is holding tight…
The sound of a slow heart heard through a stethoscope.
— Tomas Tranströmer, from “Start of a Late Autumn Novel,” The Half-Finished Heaven
Notes: Poem Source – Hidden Sanctuary. Photo – Precious Things
It’s a coincidence. (Again?)
It’s synchronicity. (Do you believe that?)
You made it up, you’re delusional. (Not yet, don’t think so, not just yet.)
It’s a sign, a message. It’s G – – . (Oh, boy.)
5:45 am. I round the corner to Cove Island – low tide. The sulfur released from the exposed mud fills the lungs – gas, pungent smelling salts.
I inhale.
Geese float silently in the shadows.
I run.
I’m around the loop and back, 1/4 mile from the entrance. GPS flashes 4.1 miles in. I don’t glance at the time, that’s been a year now, I’ve conceded. “Matured.” Over 25 years of daily tracking of body weight and notating work-outs, first in a log book, then Excel spreadsheets and now Google Sheets. And also, now, on a parallel path on a digital step tracker which automatically feeds volumes of data into machines and is charted and graphed and spliced into pieces – all of which I never look at. The logging, the tracking, the effort, I mean Really! WHO CARES?
Yet, the tension pulls at both ends, a medieval body rack tearing the limbs from the torso. Wired to Do, whipped by a Mind that makes you Do and strapped to a Body that can no longer Do. And, the Head swims in rip currents.
Someone or something is leaning close to me now
trying to tell me the one true story of my life:
one note,
low as a bass drum,
beaten over and over […]
~ Marie Howe
Notes: Photo: Sprogz – Water Drum. Poem: Prayer via Spirituality & Health
Live & Learn 