after the storm…

Last night we had a wild storm—tornado warnings, wind, heaving rain, lightning and thunder. I’ve always loved storms. After it passed, the neighborhood was eerily quiet. My daughter, Willa and I stayed up until things settled down.

I get up really early, always have. I don’t like to get up in the 4s…however, anything after 5:00 works for me. I fed our cat, Karen, headed out to get a coffee at Dunkin’ & listen to my book, City of Girls by Elizabeth Gilbert—sooooo good, and survey the storm damage. We only had leaves covering our deck and a few small branches here and there, nothing major to report.

I ended up at the bottom of the hill at Town Neck Beach. I was the only one in the parking lot at 5:25am…rare actually. Another car pulled up, a man got out and walked onto the beach in the rain. There was just something about him that I found quite intriquing. He didn’t seem sad, but clearly he was in a thoughtful mood. A fisherman wondering about his day perhaps? A visitor seeing his long-planned day at the beach with his young kids thwarted? Or perhaps just a guy on his way to work who likes storms as much as I do.

He took pictures of the stone sculpture that somehow survived the storm. I can’t imagine that someone built it in the dark between 11pm and 5am. It’s design is structurally mighty impressive. Damn.

I waited for him to get into his car, then I got out to get a shot of the sculpture as well. Walking the beach I found myself looking out at the exact spot a friend’s ashes were scattered a few years ago in one of the most sorrowful and stunning moments I’ve ever witnessed in my 52.8 years.

The beach reflected the generous spirit and remarkably unique inner wildness of her this morning. I know she would’ve loved the images in this post and be grateful that I didn’t mention her by name. That was simply not her style.

more prairie stories…

 

 

Thank you, Leonard Cohen.

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Anthem

by Leonard Cohen

The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don’t dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.
Ah the wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again
the dove is never free.Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.We asked for signs
the signs were sent:
the birth betrayed
the marriage spent
Yeah the widowhood
of every government —
signs for all to see.

I can’t run no more
with that lawless crowd
while the killers in high places
say their prayers out loud.
But they’ve summoned, they’ve summoned up
a thundercloud
and they’re going to hear from me.

Ring the bells that still can ring …

You can add up the parts
but you won’t have the sum
You can strike up the march,
there is no drum
Every heart, every heart
to love will come
but like a refugee.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.
That’s how the light gets in.
That’s how the light gets in.

tears & droplets

I was told this week that “tears are memories on the move”.  I thought that was a lovely way to describe our tears.  People I love are hurting now.  I thought this concept could offer some solace…moving memories.  The idea of sorrow moving through us by our tears—a biological, physiological and emotional response gives our tears the weight they deserve.
I shot these images and realized that I was zeroing in on the beauty of the temporal quality of a droplet.  A droplet, like a tear is living but won’t be forever. They are entirely necessary in the here and now when they flow…memories on the move.  Memories on the move.

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sorrow & joy

I’ve experienced deep sorrow this week with the loss of a friend due to a long, painful illness.  Through that process I’ve realized what a unique gift sorrow can be in understanding ourselves and our place in the world.  I know that my friend would’ve been very open to a discussion about this topic—she had an enormous capacity to explore the psychology of the soul.

definition of sorrow

noun sor·row \ˈsär-(ˌ)ō, ˈsȯr-\

  • a feeling of sadness or grief caused especially by the loss of someone or something

  • :  a cause of grief or sadness

definition of joy

noun \ˈjȯi\

  • : a feeling of great happiness

  • : a source or cause of great happiness : something or someone that gives joy to someone

quote lillibridge

Sorrow & Joy I believe exist in the same place in our hearts.  They just feel a helluva lot different.  I feel that both emotions need each other to be fully acknowledged, accepted and better understood.  Thank you for this, my friend.

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