Sitting in the sunshine, listening to David Gilmour play a Kate Bush song. A dragonfly buzzes by. Hi, dragonfly. How are you?
Leave me alone, I’m searching for a mate.
I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You can use my lawn for breeding purposes, if you wish.
I’m pretty sure some rabbits procreated on my grass. It explains the chewed up vegetables and the occasional poop. I usually find poop under the trampoline. It’s not mine. Promise. Baby bunnies are so cute. I’m hungry, hot, and I’m privileged that I even get to write this, on a laptop, outside a house I own, in a free country… one that has problems, to be sure. We all have problems, don’t we.
I’m still such a corporate hound. If you’re not part of that world, you have no idea how much it eats at you, and makes you numb. You stop feeling things, stop caring, until your self-evaluation is only possible through accumulation of money. This is not a sustainable pathway for the world.
Which brings me to sunshine and dragonflies, and how they interact in the middle of July, 2022. Some telescope just took an image of the universe 13 billion years ago. Long before there were blue skies. Long before we existed. But that’s the beauty of art, of writing, as it delves into things we couldn’t see for ourselves – a refutation of the cold world we have built in exchange for the worlds of light that we aspire to.
Go back to your breeding, bunnies. Go find a mate, dragonfly. Writers, meanwhile, have to create. That’s all you have to do, in the sunshine or not, here or somewhere else. Thirteen billion lightyears away, or next door, in the basement, hoping for a glimpse of warmth, the stuff that we are eminently capable of creating.
A writer must write. A bunny must bun. A corporation must corporate… Or something like that.
Enjoy your day in the sun.
We just have to live our dreams. Are you doing that, Matticus?
Some days I am. Some days I set aside my dreams for the dreams of others. Which is my choice so maybe that still counts?
Life is compromises and choices, blended with dreams.
Oh, Trent Lewin, thank you for breaking into my day.
Im stuck at home, losing millions in sence (oh cents) in my incorporate, non-corporate world at the base of your towers where sick days are fodder and nothing much more. Do they save or replace me, their work churning on.
I need the drop of bunny poop and dragon flies the buzz of gardens now long gone in lawyers fees and real estate, dividing up the years of pain. I count my gold in dollar bills, tens, or twenties, straight to bank. Where once again divide divides and up the chain of life it climbs.
But I’ll sit here on balcony, hunkered down in memories, and visions now of your rich yard where lower still life takes hold, the warmth the buzz, the throbbing joy of creatures in their day by day remembering the blessing made in little things we watch at play.
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You brighten my Trent. Keep being you.
You are such a treasure, Sandy. Thank you for this note. I love the way you think, and write.
“. . . . the worlds of light that we aspire to.”
Yes, art nd writing can help us in finding a bit more light.
Most of us seem to be stuck in this very cold world of our own making. where the need to make money makes us numb.
Long live art and writing! Art and writing is very important too for this ancient great-grandmother! 🙂 I’ve lived for nearly 88 years! 🙂
We have to do, what comes natural to us and sustains us. 🙂
You’re not ancient! You’re a vibrant human being. And here’s to art! It was around long before the corporate numbness swept over the land, and will exist long after we find a better way to exist.
Yes, Trent, here is to art! ❤
It had been a long time since I visited your blog and happy to stumble upon this post today!
Loved the flow and it is simple in one hand with the mating and pooo – yet deep and profound and sad about the money as a sigh of success (so true) for many folks
Who are you, Someone? Do I know you? And thank you. Here’s to beauty.