The Paradox

Mar 6, 2007 at 2:14 AM
Well, I have a beautiful fire with coals glowing away, with a blanket and a comfy chair in front of the that. My house is permeated with the clean smell of pitch and cedar from today's kindling. The breeze is perfect tonight, so I sat on the porch for a bit, looking forward at the forest and the creek I can hear but not see. I can sense the crisp beginnings of spring. I have a gorgeous valley sprawled out around me, chockablock full of budding life, babbling water, water springing from the rocks. You can watch the green and soft things burst from the ground.

In the meadow beyond my porch, an old mare grazes, and a white mule glows in reflected moonlight, reflecting a reflection of the sun. By moonlight, all the dirt is gone from everything. Fence posts are silver and white scratches on the fields. Gravel speckles the driveway in white and black fragments. The oak trees, not yet expanded with leaves, are twined up in curly white and black ropes, coiled out toward the creek - the moss shining bright and eerie.

Then my gaze wanders up to our bright full moon illuminating the wisps of silver cloud against a decadently starry sky.

The sky is the kicker, here. I am so affected by it. Only those who live as I do, many many miles from major cities, not near the glow of even a small town, where the distant light from the night sky has nothing to compete with, those people know. I can't even explain it. The milky way was a theory until I came here. I never understood the human connection to the moon so well as I do now.

I sat on the front porch and breathed it in. "Treasure this" I thought to myself. I drank my cocoa and wished I had my daughters here to share it with.

And I know I do treasure it. I absolutely adore the amazing wealth of green fuzzy rotund difficult wild nature that I am surrounded with. It's just not the same without my daughters here. I haven't anyone to call, either.

All of my friends are on the East coast, and it's obscenely late there. My children are not here to wake up so they can see this beautiful view. They're visiting their father in Florida. Since I'm just bursting to show someone the splendour of a beautiful night in the wilderness, I decided to write this post instead, so all you friends of mine can get the idea, but at an hour better suited to your needs.

I feel both very fortunate and very lonely tonight.

I wish the weather would hurry up and get awful again.


  1. Mike Says:

    That's sad Desi. When are you comming to visit again?

  2. desi Says:

    MAY - soon. I'm excited.