What Thou Must Leave Ere Long

I climbed that familiar dirt road and ascended into fog, a walk that was a mirror to my days. I’m climbing, trudging, flailing, with my destination unclear. I know what I want, in a broad brush, aspirational way, but I don’t know anymore what is attainable, and the road is fraught with unanticipated obstacles and detours. I think this is just what it’s like to be the age I am, but it also becomes more difficult while the world itself feels so unsteady.

We’ve taken the steps to sell this place that has shaped my soul for decades, and every detail is dear and poignant: the hills in moonlight, the rise and fall of the creek, the lizards, snakes, and turtles being lazy and reptilian, the hummingbird I am watching now, the tremble of leaves, the quiver of grass, the way the plush hills seem to breathe sometimes, the old wheelbarrow by the garage waiting for its next duty, the bobcat disappearing into the brush, a puff of white cloud sailing by as I look up to the living room window.

A little girl with long brown hair clambered down those rocks and walked along a trail in the mornings to feed her horse. She carried buckets of water to the sapling that is now a tall, straight sycamore tree. We watched the tides and saw shooting stars at night. Friends sat at our table, and we laughed and told stories. We looked for chanterelles, and we sorted macadamia nuts, climbed up to high places, sat in caves, and heard the hum of bees in the orchard, like the music of the universe. We held an impromptu school for children who have long ago grown up, and we walked in mud and creek water wearing tall rubber boots, and we had a dog, a little red heeler, our Lady of Perpetual Exuberance, and we witnessed rainbows and diamond days and the white chill of fog fronts moving in from the sea. We waved to the passing trains and heard their wistful chugging in the distance, and we celebrated birthdays, and even an election. We took long walks and bike rides as the peaceable cattle grazed in the hills, and the work was never done, but the world never ceased to amaze us.

Recently a former reader of my blog chided me for straying into politics. He liked when this blog was just a refuge of pretty words, or something like that. I wasn’t really sure what he was trying to say, but clearly I had disappointed him and failed to meet his therapeutic needs, and he was upset enough to send an email to let me know he was breaking up with me. I was actually a little bit amused. I felt proud to be cancelled for having spoken honestly about painful and difficult things. And let’s face it: in terms of what is going right now, we have long ago left the realm of “politics” and ventured into something downright existential.

To my dear readers who are with me now, you too may abandon this blog if you want––I won’t even know. I don’t keep track of readers and I’m not selling anything. I just like to muse out loud, and sometimes there are kindred spirits tuning in, and we make real connections and strengthen one another.

And while it is not the only thing to write about, I cannot be silent as I watch while the Republican party, (which has sadly morphed into something bizarre and unrecognizable) cheers its way into fascism with a criminal grifter at its head, aided by a corrupt Supreme court, and a MAGA cult fueled by misdirected anger, fear, and lies. It is tempting but not useful to pretend it isn’t happening, and if this blog is my own little platform, I shall use it as such. There are other topics to talk about, of course, but I know this, and it must be said: Trump is inevitable only if we believe he is inevitable and behave accordingly, thereby making it true. We must stand together and vote for the Democratic candidates from top of the ticket on down like everything depends upon it, because everything pretty much does.

Meanwhile, back to me and my walk in fog to an unknown destination, I am entering the next chapter, and I still don’t know what I am going to feel when this manifests, but the process has begun. My dear friend and former neighbor Jeanne has reminded me that the memories are mine to take with me. She writes: “Of course, there are pictures to remind us of some things, but the memories are different; they have five dimensions: width, length, depth––plus time and love."

We shall see. In the meantime, I am holding it all very close to my heart, knowing that our leaving looms near.