8 ways of the wind

If you reveal your secrets to the wind, you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees. ~ Khalil Gibran

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Image: View from the Dupont Plaza of men walking in Hurricane Betsy: Miami, Florida – 1965

I saw a spiderling today. Or maybe it was just a tiny adult, who knows. I will watch to see if it sticks around and grows any bigger.

The sun is going down earlier now, and it’s almost August. I am trying to figure out how many ways I can write about wind, and it turns out there are many. Like…the wind is shaking the neighbor’s tree, but I can only see it move through the slats of my fence. It’s pretty because the sun is hitting it, and it sparkles like hidden treasure.

It turns out there are lots of ways to write about wind.

I would have not spotted the pink blooms of my Lamium if I hadn’t been watching the wind move the leaves around. My ugly green plastic water jug is now on its side, tipped over by the wind. But I won’t go out to pick it up as my sliding glass door is broken, and I might not be able to close it again. The motto now is “don’t fix it unless it’s really broken.” Life is too short for home improvement. In fact, I think a famous woman writer said that you should write and not clean house. I’m beginning to like this woman.

It turns out there are a lot of ways to write about wind.

As the sun sets, the silhouette of blowing leaves throws shadows on my blinds, and I look for patterns like a child does with clouds. I mostly see old faces, though, not rabbits.

It turns out there are a lot of ways to write about wind.

Wind is always a verb, but noun wind whips up my hair on the subway line.

Wind is always wondering if those tall branches are going to break.

Wind is looking up at the same tall branches and crying, because it’s so beautiful but it’s always the same.

Wind only makes noise when it moves things. In the tree it whispers, in the door frame it creaks.

Only when the crow’s wings beat against the wind it returns the favor by giving the wind a voice.

Spider

Here’s an interesting thing about L.A. – it’s overrun with black widow spiders. I could find you one on the street in 10 minutes. ~Dominic Monaghan

I have a spider under my bathroom sink that I think lives there, or at least close by. Not sure where she’s getting her food, or what type of spider she is, but I’m letting her live there because she doesn’t seem to want to bite me. I haven’t got close enough to her to see what her back looks like, but she seems to be getting bigger so I’m wondering if she’s going to have some spiderlings. I suspect that she’s living in my wall or within the hollow sink somewhere, but I’m not sure.

She’s a magical disappearing spider, though, because as I ponder her, and then look away for even a second, she is gone.

Jay and Silent Bob

The more often we see the things around us – even the beautiful and wonderful things – the more they become invisible to us. That is why we often take for granted the beauty of this world: the flowers, the trees, the birds, the clouds – even those we love. Because we see things so often, we see them less and less. ~ Joseph B. Wirthlin

It’s been a long time since I’ve written. I keep resubscribing to WP as it’s the only sense of self I feel I can hold onto, and even that is fleeting. But it’s important to me. Milan Kundera once said “Once the writer in every individual comes to life (and that time is not far off), we are in for an age of universal deafness and lack of understanding.” How true this is, but we must keep writing. Even though the world is too loud, we still need to keep talking.

I made a couple of friends a few weeks ago, two California Scrub Jays I’ve named Jay and Silent Bob. I named Jay his name because he is feisty and fearless, though not clueless like the real Jay from “Clerks.” Once Jay figured out that I was the giver of raw almonds, he started getting closer and closer to the window where he would see me every morning. Lately he’s been turning his head sidewise so a) he can see me better and b) he can silently demand I hop to it in the almond department. He’s absolutely stunning — the true blues and greys in his feathering I’m sure make him quite the spring contender for the ladies.

I started to worry that I was creating little almond addicts, so I’ve been trying to mix it up when I throw the nuts outside. I don’t want the mess of a bird feeder, so I’m keeping it real with targeted throws. However, what I’ve learned is that bird feeding is actually helpful at times when birds need the most energy, such as temperature extremes in winter or early spring, when natural seed sources are depleted (source: The Humane Society of the US). Birds need less of our help in summer, except for maybe a bird bath if it’s hot.

Silent Bob keeps his distance. He perches on the telephone lines farther away. He still stares, but waits patiently. If I was to anthropomorphize, I would say he’s speaking directly to my empathy, and I’m a huge sucker.

 

Monday October 24th, 2016

 

No one cares about my old humiliations
but they go on dragging through my sleep
like a string of empty tin cans rattling
behind an abandoned car.

— Edward Hirsch

I sat outside today on my porch, waiting for a hot flash to pass, letting the cool wind hit the sweat under my Black Flag sweatshirt. In a span of a few minutes, I saw a drug dealer straddle a driveway in his car, then go sit angrily on the stairs in a breezeway, waiting for his money to show up. I could see him through the broken window of the home he waited at. After waiting a while in frustration, he then got back into his shitty Toyota (he works on his own engine, I can tell), and as he sat down, he pulled out a bottle of liquor. I’m sure he took a swig before he pulled away. I half-expected him to return with the rest of the liquor and a lighter to torch the place, but that’s where my head goes in watching such things.

I started to get cold. The family next door always seems to be doing laundry, dragging their basket to and from the car every day. It was barely raining and a woman had her umbrella out.

My neighbor’s old dog watches the scene with me, peering through the slats of their house like a eery ghost.

I was walking my dog up my hill earlier today and I saw a couple get out of their car. The man held his girlfriend’s hand and they shuffled these tiny steps across the street. I think they live in one of the illegal mother-in-law cottages across the way. I imagined he was just bringing her back from getting an abortion, that he keeps her hidden away, impregnates her, and then makes her get abortions, over and over again, and that’s why they were walking so slow. This is the crazy truth about my brain, that I make this shit up to entertain myself.

The sky was beautiful tonight, all grey with hints of white, and crows and ravens you can only capture a silhouette of with your camera, flying south. I’m not even going to try. At 5 pm I couldn’t tell if the rain was falling or the leaves of the Sycamores were rustling, turns out it was both.

Ladybugs

I think we are bound to, and by, nature. We may want to deny this connection and try to believe we control the external world, but every time there’s a snowstorm or drought, we know our fate is tied to the world around us. – Alice Hoffman

I have stopped caring about the drought, but not in the way that you think. I’m not apathetic. I do still think we should try to save our dying planet, even if it’s just for the history books…if they survive, too.

Lyanda Lynn Haupt, author of “Crow Planet” and one of my favorite nature writers, said in the same book that wonder has fallen from favor, and I would agree. Though our planet is sick from drought, extreme climate change, and apathetic consumers, I often step back and wonder at what extreme changes I’m seeing. Rather than wallowing in the stupidity of humans, and wringing my hands at what can be done, I instead choose to wonder.

Don’t get me wrong…I do my part. I’m vegan (though I’ve tripped up a few times), I support farm animal sanctuaries, and I try to educate people when they ask what I care about, or why I don’t eat meat. Enough? Maybe not, but right now it’s all I can give. I had to save myself, because the weight of the world was killing me. I had to change how I thought about things.

Lyanda wrote: “I am no ecological Pollyana. I have borne, and will continue to bear, feelings of wholehearted melancholy over the ecological state of the earth. How could I not? How could anyone not? But I am unwilling to become a hand-wringing nihilist, as some environmental ‘realists’ seem to believe is the more mature posture. Instead, I choose to dwell, as Emily Dickinson famously suggested, in possibility, where we cannot predict what will happen but we make space for it, whatever it is, and realize that our participation has value. This is grown-up optimism, where our bondedness with the rest of creation, a sense of profound interaction, and a belief in our shared ingenuity give meaning to our lives and actions on behalf of the more-than-human world.” (Crow Planet)

So today I sat outside with my parrots in their outside cages, and gave myself a homemade manicure and pedicure. I wondered at the nettles and their blossoms, and I let the ants run across my legs. I also contemplated, for a while, the three ladybugs (family Coccinellidae) that crawled through the nettles. What were they doing? What were they looking for? I wondered for a while.

lady

Annabelle

I had a daughter, called her Annabelle
She’s the apple of my eye
Tried to give her something like I never had
Didn’t want to ever hear her cry

— Annabelle, Gillian Welch

I can’t listen to a song or see things in my life without it conjuring up a memory. A number of songs remind me of old lovers. The song Annabelle reminds me of when I promised a friend of mine that she would be in my wedding, and then, well, I don’t know what happened, I chose someone else, and she got very angry at me. Here name was Anna, and I used to call her Annabelly. She was lovely, except for her smoking habit. American Spirits, if I recall. So every time the song Annabelle comes on, I think of Annabelly’s face in her mother’s home, and the smoke on her breath. She was lovely, except for all the lines in her face from years of abuse. I could never figure out why her teeth stayed so white.

I thought to name a future dog Annabelle, in the hopes that I could replace a mistake with a positive experience. I have a strange brain that way. I also think about the songs I that would accompany the video I would make when my beloved dogs die. They say that what you obsess on you draw to you, but in my mind it’s going to happen anyway, so why not imagine the beautiful movie it could be.

January 4, 2015, 16 days after death (a life in Robins) – about my mother

The other day a flock of American Robins landed in one of my trees behind my house. It was such a sight, like big and alive beautiful ornaments in a Christmas tree. They were restless, hurried, and when I coughed they flew away, save for a few brave souls.

It was a day of remembrance, not of my lost mother, but of the smell of oranges after a cold rain. Not of my sister, but just a symbol of my sister, who was named Robin.

I only have passing thoughts. Of days on the lake in Whiskeytown, jumping off the shoulders of my mother, and lying for hours in the blazing hot sun. After napping you awake within a hazy dream and run toward the water, it embracing your burnt skin like a homecoming. And your mind goes under the dock, not with a boy or a girl but by yourself, like a sea creature.

It’s never the things that are said but the feelings from memories. Pink roses and drunkenness, a wood stove and lost sisters never known. Manure, abuse, and lingering anger. You think you will feel all this grief, and sometimes you do when Johnny Mathis is playing on vinyl, or when she tried to make it right, and it was too late.