Gray Sierra

Morning Walks

I sat at the computer trying like hell to make sense out of a poem I wrote that has so much to say but not in the way that I wrote it. I sat and stared as the time clicked on the clock suddenly realizing that I had a set of eyes staring at me through my back. My dog Barney was patiently waiting for me to cut my obessive tie to the poem and take him on his walk. Feeling guilty I turned and kissed his head whispering to him "It's time."

Chaos came to the front with a flurry of noise and hyper activity spinning through the room. With grand excitement he barked and told me he had waited to long and now was the time for our daily jaunt. "I know I know hold on" I chanted over and over in reply to his demand as I ran around finding his leash, my sweatshirt and today I felt the need to listen to some healing lectures, grabbing the disc player I am finally ready. All together now looking like hell I laughed as we tripped over the Woo my tiger cat who thinks he needs to walk with us. We stumble out the door and off we go...

It has been six weeks since we moved to Nevada. I love this land with all its mountains and valleys that call for one to join the day. Barney tugged at his leash pulling me towards his favorite marking spots making sure everyone knew that he was the 7 lb king of the road. I laugh as I realize that this is the first cold gray day that we have witnessed on our daily walks. Six weeks we have been blessed with sun and blue skies that could only bring delight to the most depressed person. I have been homesick for New England as of late. I want to hear the trees scream at me with orange, red, yellow and browns all the time reminding me that there was a time in history that I heard them without having to be screamed at.
Barney walks with a brisk beat to his stroll, stopping, smelling and finally looking back at me just to make sure I was doing well. I take the hint and skip like a child besides him, stopping when he halts and taking a deep breath with him. Fall comes rushing into my lungs filling me with all that I am missing. It is as if the plant life of the valley give off their own perfume that we only have to stop and take the time to enjoy. The dry, cold and peaceful fragrance dancing within my nostrils.... calling me home.

We live here in America running from home to job to shopping to home to eat to the gym to pick up the kids to etc....Always on the fast track we forget to take time and breath deep. I miss the feeling of being centered. Fall was the time of year that I buried deep within the colors of nature and myself learning how to be me and leave behind to woman who rushed around in the world. It took a small dog to remind me that I did not leave that centered woman on the hillside of her backyard in Massachusetts. She was here with him if only she listened to the simple calling of the trees that lined the Sierras that cradled her valley. The gray skies are thick and layered dusting the top of the mountains with a tinge of snow. Over my head I see a V of geese heading south to warm their hollow bones. Gratitude for the depth of gray and the crisp fragrance floats through my soul as I remember who and what I am.

Fall is harvest time. I look down at Barney as we trot along the road stopping smelling and marking our place in this world. Harvested within the gray of the morning I feel comforted in the fact that I can chose to have this day again whenever I want. I just have to listen to Barney and take a jaunt in his world....Listening to the calm voice whispering from the headphones, I realize that my poem was of the past running backwards without reason. If we live in the past we can not settle into the harvesting grays of today. Maybe I will rewrite that poem, maybe not... we will see what the morning brings....
Du Lac