I can't sleep…
At church a baby girl was baptized. She lay quietly in the vicar’s arms, absorbed in contemplation of things around her, her eyes very wide and bright, her hands spread like stars.
— Helen Garner, One Day I’ll Remember This: Diaries 1987–1995 (Text Publishing Company, October 12, 2021)
Post inspired by Jay, Lizzy & Ellie. Thinking of you. Photo Credit: Pexels
Notes:
It was Tuesday.
Another morning walk. 140 days, 140 consecutive days in a row.
My 5 mile loop to start each day. Same time. Same path.
I’m crawling out of bed a bit slower now, and wondering, “Maybe I take today off?” Days are getting shorter. Mornings darker. The sheen of watching daybreak, the first light illuminating the horizon, do I dare say, is becoming boring?
But we keep it going. If nothing else, it gives me something to boast about. Work that fragile ego.
And Tuesday morning was setting up to be a replay of so many other mornings. Few surprises. My Swan sleeping alone at the edge of the cove. My Spirit Bird, the cormorant, fishing solo. That’s a photo I took of her — her elegant curved neck, the matte black finish of her back, her gulping a breath before diving again.
I keep walking.
My camera goes back in the bag, and doesn’t leave the bag. Been here. Done that. Seen it before. Not worth the energy to pull it out of the sling.
I reach the Park and I approach the break wall. I’m looking out on Long Island Sound. It’s quiet this morning. Few walkers. Calm. No wind.
I re-grip my camera bag to hoist myself up on the break wall and at that moment a flock of ~20 Canada Geese lift off the water, and surge low over my head. Those in the back honking to encourage those up front to keep up their speed. It was one of those moments — the beat of 40 wings, the urgency of their calls. I’ll knew that I’d remember this. Write about this.
I keep walking.
I’m thinking about why that moment was a moment. I was startled…a break of the silence. An interruption of the thoughts banging around in my head. A piercing of the quiet, almost to say: Awaken Man. Look around you.
I keep walking.
I see another Cormorant feeding. 2 Spirit Birds in one Day. Now that’s Something. I take my camera out of my bag and snap a few shots.
I keep walking.
I notice another flock across the pond, but its not Geese. Smaller, darker, flying lower, wings flapping with greater urgency.
I stop to watch.
I swing my sling around to grab the zoom lens. Heart beating. Come on Dave. Come on.
It was another Moment.
They were too far out even with the zoom.
I turned to walk back to the Park to see if I could get a better shot.
Hand shake. No time for tripod. No time to adjust camera settings. Blurry! It will be blurry!
25? 50? More?
It’s spring, and everything looks frail;
the sky is baby blue, and the just-unfurling leaves…
a little dogwood tree is losing its mind;
overflowing with blossomfoam…
dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds,
so Nature’s wastefulness seems quietly obscene.
It’s been doing that all week:
making beauty,
and throwing it away,
and making more.
– Tony Hoagland from A Color of the Sky in What Narcissism Means to Me
Notes – Photo: Dogwood in Blossom by David Castenson. Poem: Thank you Whiskey River
Yesterday. 3 a.m. I’m laying in bed, in darkness, exhausted. Eyelids, like anvils, won’t close. Won’t shut.
I’m swimming in Marina Benjamin’s head: “my head is lit up…like an out-of-hours factory…whirring generators flip on…lining up tasks in a shoulder-shoving queue…mostly I just fret, worry-beading problems and irritations…forming a manacle of woe.”
I have a 10 a.m. meeting in the city, an important meeting, with important people. The meeting is 7 hours away, like almost a full working day away, yet, I’m prepping. You need to sleep Friend, you will run out of steam by 10am.
It’s the 5:38 a.m. train to Grand Central. I can’t sleep. Can’t read. Can’t focus. I close my eyes and thoughts spin in a whirlwind, and then stop. Meditation. I’ve quit. It’s been three weeks. The app sits in the phone in my hand. The meditation prompts are a few clicks away. My fingers re-grip the phone. Now, do it now. You could use it now. Continue reading “Walking Cross-Town. With a greeting party.”