October 28, 2003 ~ Fuchsia

Tuesday.

With a splat, a splash of bright fuchsia spread across the middle of my windshield this morning on the way to work. "Wow!" The way it spread was so intricate. It was so beautiful, so bright., so fuchsia, so... bird poop. I started to giggle when I realized that I didn't want to run the windshield wipers because it would obliterate some really pretty bird poop. Somebody's been eating too many poke berries, I thought, finally running the wipers and grinning.

Feeling joy at a splash of bird poop. A mood this good should be illegal. Seriously.

That is how it has been, however, since Morgan and I agreed on that compromise. I feel incredibly peaceful and light. I wonder how long that issue has been a weight on my mind?

We had two friends over for dinner last night--Sebastian, my poetry professor and supervisor for a time, and Ryan, who co-edited the opinions magazine with me all those years. It was such a relaxing evening. Wonderful, open conversation, Morgan's delicious cooking (ragu--mushroom for me, lamb for everyone else), and they say the wine was superb. It is always so refreshing to have laughter other than our own gracing these walls.

Today, I took a two and a half hour hike, all up and down the river and over to Dam Pasture Trail, where I'd never been before. Pines. The whisper of needles. I came out of the forest into a pasture vivid green (alfalfa?) under the cloud cover. Everywhere else, the leaves are falling like mad. The vibrant, thriving green felt out of place with the chill surrounding it.

I pushed myself to keep a fast pace, and by the time I finally got back to the car, I was quite tired. Tired in that good, slightly achy, exhilarated way. I came home to Morgan, and he made a delicious, filling, warm dinner of roasted potatoes, shallots, mushrooms, carrots, celery, and garlic with vegan gravy over top, and sautéed green beans and squash on the side. A wonderful "meat and potatoes" sort of meal, without the meat, of course. Perfect for after a long hike.

Also perfect will be bed. I pour energy into all that I do, I smile constantly, I laugh to myself alone in the car, and fuchsia bird droppings tickle me to no end. Life feels vibrant now; the world is right again.





Footnotes:

bookmarked: The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. LeGuin.
writing focus: Emails.
observation: The man in the car in front of me on my way down Haywood Road this evening--he'd left his gas door open, cap (lucky for him) hanging by its string. I had a good laugh when the black man standing next to the Bledsoe building, watching that car drive by, pursed his lips, shook his head, and started laughing.
one year ago: We were having really bad financial troubles.
two years ago: I wrote about the rat lady.
three years ago: I mused about inevitable loneliness and pacifism.
four years ago: No entry.
historical journal: "[Lola] has taken a lover who ... speaks no single word of Italian, communication can only be carried on by signs, and this gives rise to misunderstanding. Would I agree to interpret for them and settle certain basic matters? Captain Frazer turned out to be a tall hansome man some years Lola's junior... She wanted to know all about his marital status and he hers, and they lied to each other to their hearts' content while I kept a straight face and interpreted." Norman Lewis in his diary, October 28, 1943.

online journals:

"I would love to feed them choice cuts of meat and luscious vegetables from my hand. Just so I could marvel at their masked faces and dextrous hands. I've been watching them this evening. The cutest thing is when they look up from the seed and it's stuck to the end of their noses." ~ Lana in this entry of Take the Money and Run.

"It's not moving. Just standing there in the shadow, facing out to the street. Half expected to see the little red glow of a cigarette, like in the movies, but no, this person's not moving. Can't tell if it's female or male, but I'm guessing male. And up to no good, obviously." ~ Grouse in this entry of Grousin' in the Sage.

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