Timelessness

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There is something timeless about a stormy afternoon.

Even though the wind has everything in motion. Leaves let go and scuttle across pavement. Newly uncloaked locust branches, dipped in wet ink, sign repeating messages against the screen of gray sky. Chimes in the snowball bush outside your studio diminuendo then clang again on the same four notes.

Here, at the desk which was still in your father’s office three years ago, the light from the window doesn’t change.

There is something delicious about the timelessness of a stormy afternoon. You eat a bit too much of it and grow dreamy. The chords of ambition you had yesterday, when the peak was covered in snow, when the sun came and went and the air remained mild, when the washer filled and emptied onto the line, when the last of the black beans were harvested, when the garlic harvested in July was tucked in neat rows following the beans and covered with old pine needles, when the fresh sheets went back on the bed, when the onions simmered into the first robust soup, when the house was tidied, when candles were lit and the table set for company, those chords have become a hypnotic drone in which countless melodies reside.

Choose one of those melodies and let it lead you into remembering how much you love looking up words in a heavy, printed dictionary. Drop into the relaxed rhythm of your breathing, the sense that you are napping while fully awake, the sense of fullness in your belly where awareness dwells and phrases form and echo out like slow strikes on a steeple-full of well-cast bells.

You feel warm and steamy as if fresh from your bath and the Lawrence Welk show is floating bubbles up the screen. You feel dark and purposeful like the garlic.

On the aqua vinyl cushions on the furniture on the front porch, hundreds (oh, yes, hundreds) of spring bulbs are sorted according to type and destination. Harvested from the soil near where the bones of your great grandparents rest and destined to naturalize on the last rise of prairie below the Rockies, they are stalwart and ready. When the storm passes, work resumes.

For now, the industry of timelessness is warranted.

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16 thoughts on “Timelessness

  1. As always, I love reading your writing Cheryl, and aspire to become so facile with language and word choice as to be able to elicit, as you do, sights and sounds and emotion, and to guide readers to places internal and external that many of us love to be reminded do exist.

  2. It was a strong wind that blew late this morning, colder than yesterday, and the leaves flew through the air like snow.. except golden.. aspen leaves .. and then it really got cold. Here we go again, autumn in Colorado. Time for a cappucino…

  3. Wow I got lost in your words forgot the world around me and wondered off to that magical world of Cheryl I visioned every thing you said and felt very relaxed. Jim

  4. Beautifully written. Reminds me of a room in the house I grew up in where the rain could be heard very distinctly on the roof. I loved reading in this room during storms, the feeling of cozy security was delicious.

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