It was raining before sunrise this morning. I could hear the sound of raindrops falling onto the dome skylights on the top of my roof. It was quiet though and peaceful as ever. The gloom in the sky began to show proof of light, and soon enough, I knew the sunshine would return.
The sun is up now. The sky is beginning to show segments of clearing, which I hope to see more of as the day progresses.
The robins are awake now. I can hear them chirping from the wooded section of my property, which is modest and quaint but decent in size.
There is something surreal about the way things are happening. I am disoriented but yet, I am completely aware and not out of touch at all.
Quite the opposite. I am fully connected but caught in a stage of disbelief that this is what’s happening to us.
I am in awe of how the world keeps moving, almost defying the natural order of life, but yet, this is life and life is happening to us all whether we like it or not. I suppose this is why it would be better to go off topic.
For now, it makes more sense to just write for the sake of writing.
I think it was Hemingway that said, “The writer must write what he has to say, not speak it.”
This makes sense to me.
Bukowski once wrote, “Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead.”
I suppose there is truth to this for me as well.
Currently, the world seems somewhere between the two quotes. There is so much to say and and so much to do but where do we begin?
I could write pages of all the thoughts in my head. I could talk for hours but nothing would make sense of the world as we know it.
Nothing ever explains loss enough to satisfy the mournful loss of a broken heart.
I see the need for a break in the tension. I want to walk away from the news reports. I want to get back to at least a semblance of normalcy (if there is such a thing).
Yesterday was pretty close though. The sun was out and the sky was blue. Spring came along to pull off its trick.
The grass is looking greener and the trees are starting to show signs of color. The spreading maples are beginning to look alive, as if the leaves sprouted overnight. I tell you in spite of everything, the Earth really is a beautiful place.
I see the need for a change in the mood. We need something to soften the heartbreak and comfort the loss. And me, I think I need to visit a little pond that I dream of.
I dream about this place when life becomes too intense. I see this place as it is but not in the same as it was when I was young.
This pond and the land around it is very real to me. I lived on this land for close to a year. I was much younger then.
I was troubled and yet, life was so much simpler. I was trying though, growing, learning, and thinking way too much — but then again, everyone is always thinking too much but hey, this is what life was like for me at the spawn of my 18th year. I’m 47 now.
I dream about the pond in a way that is very different from my memory. I see me there with tiny white Christmas lights strung across the nearby trees and draped in a line from one tree to another.
The atmosphere is as warm as the drowning sun in late summer. I imagine times like this and the refreshing ability of lemonade in an iced-cold glass.
I think about the orange hue of sunset and the variation of color across the horizon and the surrounding mountaintops. One thing for sure is the sky will always know how to dance; it’s only us that struggle.
There is something very special about this place for me. I view this dream as a means of relief. This pond and the fields around it represents a place of comfort. The warm and sunny, countryside moments was the remedy that healed the broken pieces of a young man’s heart. And that young man was me.
I can see this view now and imagine us somehow, all of us at sunset, standing around the little picnic tables with green grass beneath out feet. The fireflies have come out to celebrate the evening. The smell from the barbecue is as happy as a fat man’s belly and the quiet music is enough to bring us all together so we can dance.
There is no wonder why they say music can soothe the savage beast. There is no doubt in my mind that given the right atmosphere, the right song can cure even cancer, if only for a moment.
I admit though, I have always been more of a city kid. I love the late night rooftop views and the beams from Times Square. I love the old stomping grounds, down by Avenue A and the cobblestone memories I have of places in SoHo on Mercer Street, or on Broome.
However, as I grow older and as I mature into new stages of life; I find that my countryside moments have a much softer appeal.
Nothing feels over-crowded. People say things like “Hello,” and neighbors ask “How are you,” with the full intention to hear an answer.
Someone asked me, “When are you getting out of New York?”
My answer: I’m not sure.
I’m not sure where I would go either. Maybe I’d pick a place that no one ever heard of. Maybe I’d find a place where the town’s fair included everyone in town.
They would have pie eating contests and potato sack races. I’d like to find a place where the warm sunny Sundays would be wholesome with attitude and people would pause at one another to say things like, “Peace be with you.”
“And also with you.”
Maybe I’d pick a place where little ponds like the one in my dreams can be found anywhere. The fireflies would be more than just seasonal friends. Oh, and the lemonade would be the most refreshing thing known to mankind.
Maybe Bukowski was right about going crazy.
I think I’ve had my share of crazy though. I think I could go without it for a while.
It would be nice to find myself a nice long country road that leads to a plot of land with a little house and a little pond.
This way, I could string up some lights and play some music; to make us feel happy, and to bring us all closer together—
. . . so we could dance.