Today.

One time, it rained in Denver.

And I spent that raining day planted in front of a wall of windows in the middle of the city. And I drank an entire pot of decaf coffee, which the baristas brewed just for me. I was visited briefly by a friend and our conversation was light and easy. Thor made me an almond milk cappuccino worthy of a gold ribbon. 

This spot – everything outside of it – is deliciously gray.  The buildings, the parking meters, the dead bushes that greet you, even the cars – gray. And I’ll take it today.

People walk to and fro – smiling, shuffling, yelling, briskly, purposefully, talking, warm, and cold, new, ancient, alive, walking-dead.

I hear pieces of conversation here and there.

It’s a good thing. All of it.

This has no glorious end. No profound deeper meaning. I am simply grateful for today. And the gray. And the life that happens no matter where you go.

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Untitled Poem the Fifth

My heart stirred,
As if from the call of a lover,
As I watched rain
Fling itself from the sky,
Plummet with excited purpose
Until it hit the earth
And then splashed,
As if trying to reach the clouds again.

My pulse raced,
As if from the thrill of flying,
As clouds ran
Across the grass,
Like fairies
Skipping through the morning dew
Tinkling merrily
And they were gone.

Thunder laughed
Lightening smirked
Fog encroached,
So the end of the world
Was the end of the tree-line.
The sky split in two
Floods rose
The earth sang –
And then it was gone,
Just like it came –

And even as the rain
dwindled to nothing,
A bird stood confident
In the pear tree outside
And trilled an easy song.

Adventures

I think my heart and soul had a conversation in the middle of the night and came to the consensus that they needed adventure. I think that when I woke up this morning, I knew I would not be content to sit at home or even to sit in a coffee shop. I was antsy all day – dancing around on my toes as I stumbled through the school work that was far from my mind though it was right in front of my face. I knew I there was a car waiting in the garage, its keys on my key chain. I made a CD for today – 21 songs, 1.2 hours total – I knew that the short jaunt to the grocery store and Karen’s Book Barn would not take long enough to listen to more than a few songs, but I put 21 on it anyway. I think I decided with every song after four or five that I would, in fact, listen to the whole thing – be gone long enough to listen to the whole thing.

So, I left. Gathered up my poems and other various things to occupy my time and left. It’s been London-raining all day for those of you who didn’t know. London-raining, Maggie, that’s not really a word. Ah, but it’s a Maggie word. London-raining is when the rain doesn’t fall, it just is – a continual mist that settles over everything and and makes the brown grass and grey sky deliciously sad and eerie. It’s been London-raining all day and London-rain is best enjoyed outside, where you can really take it in – London-rain is not to be observed, it is to be experienced. So, I parked purposefully far away from the coffeeshop so as to experience, not merely observe. And I half-danced, like a very little girl, with my hands in my pockets and my feet wet from the puddle I’d managed to not-avoid in a glorious, messy splash all the way to the door of LaGrange Roasters, which was locked, because they were closed. They have odd hours, no one’s sure why, I don’t really care why, aside from the natural curiosity, but I can’t ever figure out how to arrive when they’re open. So, I got back in the car and sat in something of a conundrum.

There is a point in every typical novel or movie called (by myself and probably a few other people) “the point of no return.” It is the point at which the hero fully, finally embraces the story – leaving all cares, concerns, and cacidrosis by the wayside. I’m not really sure that last word is used in the proper context, but I found it and it completed the alliteration and it sounded cool, so it’s there. Go ahead, look it up, you know you have to now. Anyway, I turned the car on, pulled (expertly) out into the street and drove to the grocery store. That – that was my point of no return – my abandon to the story. It wasn’t really that big of a deal, I had to go the grocery anyway, but the original plan was to sit for hours in a coffeeshop and then go to the store on my way home (technically, out of my way home, but you get the idea.) I decided as I muddled my way through a four-way stop and turned left, not right, that today was not going to go as planned in the most marvelous of ways. The Roasters being closed confirmed what my heart had known since this morning – sitting still for an hour would not satisfy the restless that settled in myself, I needed – not wanted – adventure.

Restless comes on purpose. It comes so we don’t forget what it’s like to do something for no reason at all, so we don’t forget what it’s like to have the music too loud, to roll down the windows even though it’s ridiculously cold, so we don’t forget laughing until it hurts just because, don’t forget being a little girl or little boy playing games of pretend, running for your life from an imaginary don’t forget running through puddles, walking intentionally through the rain, walking barefoot through field that could potentially injure you uncaring of the burs and briers, don’t forget the excitement of taking a road that leads no one knows where, of jumping off the roof, of throwing aside grammatical rules and writing a grotesquely long run-on sentence. Restless made its fitful home in me today and that is why I went to kroger first and bought Mary’s Gone Crackers and began eating them as I drove back to mainstreet and parked too far away yet again and walked to Karen’s Book Barn, which has normal hours. My heart raced as I bought waited for my latte, anticipation and excitement bubbling delightfully within me. “I’m in love,” I thought as the feeling rose and a smile would not leave my face, “I’m in love with God and adventure.” I laughed. Out loud. For no apparent reason. In the coffeeshop. Then I took my latte and left, skipping now, through the London-rain, to the car. Into the driver’s seat (still an odd concept for me)shoes off, music on, engine on, back up, pull out, turn right, drive. I took at least four roads I’ve never driven, going as far on them as I dared, then turning around and going back, singing loudly and sipping my latte (technically against the “drive cautiously so you don’t kill yourself” rules, but I was still careful.) I’m not rebellious, not the kind of person who breaks rules like ‘don’t drink (any beverage) and drive’ and ‘drive the speed limit,’ I am, however, the kind of person that knows driving a small bit over the speed limit on a country road as long as you feel entirely in control of the vehicle will not kill you – and will rarely get you a ticket because how the heck is a police man supposed to patrol a ‘holler.’ I am cautious, I am, however, fast. Nothing spectacular happened (aside from my nearly hitting a mail box) – I simply drove for miles down unfamiliar roads and relished the London-rain and sang loudly and carelessly and drank coffee. There were no revelations – just doing unexpected things, flying by the seat of my pants, enjoying music and driving fast and not knowing what’s around the next bend – delighting in creation and thus in its Creator. Adventure. For no reason other than I needed to.

I ended my trip by driving in a very large unnecessary loop that took my past my Grammy and Pa’s old house. I was very proud of the fact that I made the loop seamlessly (I know my sister is now laughing at my extensive directional dysfunction.) As I came to the entrance of the subdivision where this home resides, I decided I was not yet done being so full I could burst and drove right passed my turn, taking the same exact loop again. The restless has gone for now, but I almost await its return because it calls for new adventure.

Conclusions

I woke up about thirty minutes ago – 11:14 – I feel guilty about sleeping so long, but only somewhat. I have come to the conclusion over the past several days that I am rather lazy. I get up far too late and walk around in the doldrums for a while before actually doing anything productive. And I can  be productive, it just take prodding and getting over whatever mind-block that’s in my way and time, generally, lots of time. I opt lately for an episode –which generally turns into several episodes- of the Wonder Years (possibly one of the best television shows I’ve ever come across) over one of the many things that have been on my mental to-do list for at least a month now. This isn’t necessarily bad. I think that there are points in one’s life when it is perfectly acceptable, perhaps even very good, for laziness to be the general mantle worn. I don’t think that now is one of those points in my life, however, which means I have a bit of a problem. I know there are methods to fix this problem. I don’t really feel like employing them – I suppose this is a side-effect of lazy. I don’t really want to go on talking about it, however, because I feel that is just allowing it to prove its own point – talking about being lazy is, by definition, lazy. It’s still not doing anything. Still procrastinating.

So, I have half a mind to go for a walk in spite of the icy conditions – just to say to lazy that it has not won. I probably won’t. I have to study. I have a rather big test on Monday that I’m supposed to be studying for- right now, actually. I’m very bad at studying. That’s another conclusion about myself I’ve made over the past several days. This is kind of a large misfortune because studying is supposed to be my sole occupation for the next three years of my life. There is something in me that simply cannot wrap itself around the idea of sitting at my desk going over a said topic for hours at a time. I guess, or seriously hope, that I will get better at studying as time goes on – otherwise, I may just have to stop existing. I’ve justified my writing this because I’m eating breakfast. Before you deem me completely ridiculous, please allow me to explain. See, in the past, I would’ve watched the Wonder Years while I ate, so, the fact that I’m writing – something productive – instead of watching the Wonder Years – something mindless – is improvement and thus, acceptable. Okay, so I’m completely ridiculous.

I had planned, upon waking up, to come in here – to my sanctuary of sorts where my desk resides in front of a window outside of which is a tree where birds like to take curious little rests – and write a more narrative piece because I miss writing things like that and the icy morning lent itself perfectly to such a writing. But, then I came again to the conclusion that I’m lazy and it apparently so bothered me that I wrote about that instead. Someday – maybe even later today maybe even now – I will write about the ice and how it makes the magic once in the trees come back to the surface, and the miraculous, stirring quiet of a nearly empty house when you first wake, and how perfect oatmeal and a cup of coffee would’ve been, and why I had some healthy substitute for oatmeal and a cup of tea instead, and the fat birds that come to watch me work – or let me watch them sit – and slid around on their normal tree this morning because it was covered in the cursed, blessed ice. Or, maybe I will surprise all of us and study.

And after I wrote this, I did study – for 20 minutes. Then I messed around with the appearance of this here blog – nog – and added this new page for your enjoyment and my possible demise. And now, I’m really off to study… and get the mail… an maybe eat some food… and get a cup of tea… then study.