horizon

A raven just flew past at eye level. They’re always on some serious mission. They remind me of my mother in a shopping mall. Today is the tail end of an Indian summer. The aspens across the creek with their bare arms stretched to the sky have been singing Hallelujah, but tomorrow snow is on the horizon, the thickening up of winter, so this afternoon I brought a chair out into the sunshine to let the wind blow off my patheticness. The dog is happy to see me. She’s never happier than when I join her outside. A chipmunk stuffs its cheeks with sunflower seeds. The dog hurries to her job of bellying in the dirt under the house after the chipmunk. I hear her bang her head on floor joists. The chipmunk doesn’t have to worry about eating too much sugar, or the grunge that can grow in the gut when you’re on massive doses of antibiotics. We fill the feeder every day and the chipmunk eats half the seed. I wish the deer would do the same about the lettuce in the garden in summer, eat half, leave half for us. I used to spend entire days outside. I used to spend entire months outside. I used to sit on cliffs above a river and watch bald eagles mute and feed their chicks and talon fish. I used to hike in the mountains, hike over the mountains, never took to crawling under the mountains. Some people believe there is a golden room in the center of the Grand Teton. The Temple of Precipitation. The Golden Retreat. The temple is open twice a year. Ascended Masters, angels meet to discuss ways to fix what we mess up in the world. By all description the room is beautiful, onyx, blue and rose granite, gold. It’s filled with lilies. I tried my best to believe in it. I thought if I believed in it I’d get well. Beg, borrow, and steal. Today I believe in this: standing in a chilly wind listening to the enormous sound of a raven flying toward something important.

 

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