Free Writes
Sunshine and Rain
Musings of Nature’s Love
I saw rain as the sun was shining. Catching one glimpse in the corner of my eye from the kitchen window, I ran to open the back door for a closer view. My dogs stood beside me in the doorway. They don’t know what this sight means to me, but they sense the importance in my gaze. How little anyone knows about me. How little we all know about anyone or anything.
Humans assume, theorize and hypothesize in ways necessary for our survival. Science feeds my brain. But I don’t want to make educated guesses about the sunshine and the rain. The answer is undoubtedly a Google search away, but I avoid the technicalities. I believe the sun and the rain lied together last night behind the clouds, whispering about creating a rainbow. Their union was too beautiful, too powerful for secrecy. The sun and the rain wanted human eyes to see the colors of true love - Too many of us don’t know or have forgotten.
The sun told the rain that he would stand behind her, complementing her light. She was his glory. Her rage that can set the Earth as she so chooses. But the rain, his love softens the impact of her heat. The sun and the rain hold so many secrets. So do I.
The sun and the rain knew I would be standing here, watching them create a rainbow in my backyard, love’s colors on full display, Just for me.
Outside Office
Escaping the confines of work without play
The house is too quiet, suffocatingly so. The white walls and bare gray tiles create an inescapable echo, reverberating the rapid, inescapable clicks of my keyboard. My brain pulls me towards my work station, but my heart pulls me in the opposite direction. Facing my computer with fake plants creating the backdrop on the wall behind my desk is stagnating. The other plants I keep are real. Varying shades of green, requiring water, trimming and pruning - much like my creative process that I too often put on pause. Maybe that’s why I adorn my office space with fake plants. It is a space that requires less creative care, more structure, less room for error.
I want today to be different. I need today to be different. I deserve something… different. I’ll work outside today. Outside, the lighting isn’t drab and the sun shines warmly on my back, reminding me that I am minuscule, so small in the grand scheme of the universe. Outside, my dogs play, and I stare in amazement at how fast they run. I smile at their agility and focus in the present moment. No past, no future, only this moment. Outside, my bare feet are one with the soil. The dirt nourishes me without words, appreciating my existence. Nothing is transactional here.
Nature does not play by the numbers or the rules. She revels in the beauty and chaos of her unknown variables. In this same backyard, ants bite with a sting that lasts for hours. Ticks hide from view, poisonous creatures abound. The rain falls and the insects scatter for a moment. I carry my laptop back inside, now watching the world from my window. I could have stayed outside because I have proven myself repeatedly, proven that I can face nature’s elements, proven that I can face my human condition, the flaws, the errors, the strength, the glory.
And yet, I retreat. Indoors, comforted by the false sense of safety that monotony affords. My spirit whispers adventurous suggestions as the sounds of light rain hypnotize me. I need to go back outside. But I’m not ready yet.
Legacy
Doing the work as it feels abstract
In this moment, I can’t remember why I do the work I do. I know there is something inside of me that screams for movement beyond myself, but that part of my soul is asleep right now. My soul is resting in ways that my body is not afforded. There are moments when I feel a spark. The spark wants to become a flame, but the timing is too imperfect.
My ancestors demand more of me. My uncle requires more of me. My grandmother is proud of me, and her words spill from my mother‘s mouth.
I am the daughter of misunderstood generations before me and I am the final generation tasked with the burdens and responsibilities that will complete our circle. Our infinite circle loops around this life with no definition, no words, no structure. Here I stand with ancestral words on my shoulder and no foundation under my feet. Floating.
The sky is my stomping grounds, creating thunder as I seek clouds where my head rests and the sun keeps me warm. The moon would light my dreams, but how can I sleep? The world is awake with a reverberating chaos so frightening.
Mother Earth is rumbling. She keeps me up at night. I work so that those born after my death can rest… but what is the work? I have yet to define it.
