I can't sleep…
Notes:
I was struggling… overwhelmed with the world, and I had this feeling that I just wanted things to stop for a while so that I could catch up. And I told my mom at one point that I was going to…spend a few weeks where people wouldn’t expect me to do anything other than just stare out the window…And she said, “You need to go to the wilderness.”
~ Terry Tempest Williams, Erosion: Essays of Undoing (October 8, 2019)
Photo: Luksefjell (Norway) by allanaasland (via Poppins-me)
An owl’s feathers are silent in flight because individual barbs zipper shut so no air can rush through like the sound of desert wind. Each time I find a feather, I brush its webbing like velvet against my cheek. Sometimes, I close my eyes and fan the air by my ear. I hear nothing, only feel a slight breeze.
~ Terry Tempest Williams, Erosion: Essays of Undoing (October 8, 2019)
Photo: Burrowing Owl by Kevin Juberg (via Voice of Nature)
Late to bed Tuesday night, following long return flight from Phoenix.
Late jump Wednesday morning.
4th morning train to NYC.
Light misty rain.
And, Terry Tempest Williams continues to lay tracks.
“In the end, it’s rarely the large gestures that count, it’s the small ones.”
My antenna is up.
On train, a middle aged man gives up his seat for a lady. She’s not young. Not old. Not pregnant. He just does it. And stands for the entire 55 minute ride.
At Grand Central Station, Construction worker, hard hat under his arm, looks behind as he crosses the threshold of the exit, sees me coming, holds door open. I was several yards back. Let’s say 10 yards back. Rare occurrence. It was a conscious act. Everyone is exhausted with political attacks, the lack of civility. How about some decency today?
And the gestures, small, keep coming.
Flight to Phoenix. Elderly lady sits in aisle seat. Not her seat. “Would you mind taking the window seat.” She gestures asking him to lean closer: “I have a bladder problem.” He slides across and takes the window seat. “No problem.” She exhales.
Susan out for a morning walk in Phoenix. She returns to tell me “the most unbelievable story.” I roll my eyes. Can’t wait to hear this. She comes across a lady walking “Sunny”, a Golden Doodle. Lady asks where we’re from. Susan explains. “Here to visit my husband’s younger brother. He’s hospitalized and breathing with the aid of a ventilator.” Lady pauses to assess the receptiveness of her planned gesture. “I’m sorry to be so forward, but would you mind if I said a Prayer for him and for you.” And then proceeds to reach for Susan’s hands, and Prays.
I walk across Fifth Avenue. It’s 7 a.m. E.S.T. and 4 a.m. in Phoenix.
He’s sleeping now, machine pumps oxygen into his lungs.
I stand waiting for the cross walk sign to turn.
I look up, light drizzle brushes my face, three flags flap over a major hotel entrance.
I inhale deeply, and then exhale, and this Agnostic fires up his own Prayer.
Breathe Bro. Breathe.
Photo: Mine with smartphone. At Times Square yesterday morning, at the end of my cross-town walk. NYC awakening.
Recognizing the dignity of each living thing, mobile or fixed, insect, animal, tree, or mushroom, has broadened my love for this world and diminished my need for a god in heaven. We have multitudes of gods on Earth.
~ Terry Tempest Williams, Erosion: Essays of Undoing (Sarah Crichton Books, October 8, 2019)