It was a soft fall evening when I arrived at West Clear Water Creek. The air was sweet with fragrance and the sun was still high enough to warm the back of my legs and bike. Sycamore leaves fell and drifted randomly as the flickers called out their heckled laughter and "swam" from tree to tree. All of life seemed touched by an energy which charged everything, including me.
I had a lot of time to think while I biked along a worn path, and most of my thoughts centered around my being too strong and independent for a certain someone. I could hear his voice still in my head, but I began to replace his words with a new kind of language, a kiss which didn't have anything to do with the cellular movement of these thoughts, but of someone else's. It was kinda weird. I felt a rage and so I tossed my bike down on the sand and released my energy in doing so. With this new language, a remembrance of things past flooded over me and I floated off to another time and another place. I discovered absolute freedom thinking myself out of my current existence and this shook me from my loneliness.
We over-analyze it and forget to reflect on love and the sacredness of life. Even when it's as thin as a ribbon, so fragile, but so easily transformed. I thought life is sacred even:
--in the middle of nowhere
--in lands that are ravaged
--in a homeless shelter
--in line at the bank (you're overdrawn at)
--in the darkness of our souls
--when you have one stupid cover pulled over your head.
And now at the level of my bike, the unforgiving pokes of the stones, withered leaves and decaying wood bits, I ironically guard the new fruit of a kiss, a kiss which is unfelt. I guard it so wrongly, the new love which needs no explanation. And when the time is right, I will bike out across the flattened creek path and through some sandy areas and burst open to feel that kiss and let kisses come in that are of love and beauty. They can be from this time, that time, or any other time; it's all the same.
Hope you have a sweet, thought-provoking Fall.. xo, Sharon Marzonie