Leaving Mill Valley
In the evening all the crows come to roost in a large eucalyptus tree across the canyon, they seem to come in from the east in big flocks in big swirls of black wings as if the dinner bell rang and they are coming home to eat.
Walking the summit road this morning meeting a woman named Nancy and her donkey Jackson who would not budge from the driveway of an old woman they used to visit, she died many years ago and he still stops there and waits to go down to her house.
A crow lands on the church steeple cross with the glow of the sunset reflecting off the stained glass windows.
Packing glasses in newspaper I brought from Point Arena, redolent with the fresh ganja leaves
that fell into my kitchen sink.
The pregnant spider hanging by a thread on the outside of the window.
The tender particles of grief.
Tonight on Throckmorton Avenue, a small boy plays a railing in front of a day spa, as if he were playing a symphony on a piano, while his father mops the sidewalk.
A strange black dog peeing on a rock at the end of Tamalpias Road, as I bore myself to the vortex, praying to be healed.
Wet fall leaves stick to the glass of my windshield.
The tiny mouse in my office who will not succumb to the trap.
Thinking of christmas lights at truckstops.
The quiet cutting.
Crazy flippy swirly cloudy things above the Bay Bridge at dawn.
My indelible soulfulness.
The healing comes with a huge gust of wind that rattles the windows. A trail of smokes rises in a sinuey line that is caught by the swirling wind catching the loss and pain, raising it to the heavens, gently, dissapating the grief and as the sun peaks out from the purple clouds, a ray, a ray of hope begins to warm the earth and gently, the new seed is incubated, still hidden but the hope and growth is beginning while still it seems so cold. Unseen helpers there to raise us up.. patience, it comes.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful Shanita.
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