I am trying to find a magic moment every day and describe it. Mostly I want to remember all the little things that make life beautiful. Secondly, it’s kind of fun and challenging to try to paint a moment in time with words. I started on January 1st, so there is some catching up to do. I’ll go 1 week at a time until I get to today.
Magic moment: in the purple blue light of a shivery winter morning, a majestic red tailed hawk lifts off from a roadside fence post, silently glides inches above the glistening snow covered field, lands high up on a black branch of an old maple tree
As we rumble down a curving two lane state road following a frigid half frozen creek along the valley floor, I watch the ridge line, soaking in the fluid topography of the mountain laid bare by leafless winter trees that slide by in a grey blur against the snow covered swells, dips, cracks, and creases. I explore the secret glens and crevices with my eyes. How many people travel this same stretch of highway every day and never experience this intimate beauty of the mountain revealed?
Slowly, gently, waking in a room filled with hazy overcast weak winter light, snuggled deep beneath soft flannel blankets with a small black cat purring loudly in my ear, her whiskers tickling my cheek, the pillow vibrating from her exuberance, bright green eyes shining with adoration ” I’ m so happy you’re finally awake! ”
I step outside into the almost blinding sparkling white afternoon sunshine as it sneaks out around low hanging grumbly grey clouds. Evergreen trees shine the darkest green and the the ground glows a soggy melted brown. In an instant, the clouds reclaim their place and all is thrown back into an overcast gloom, but I still have thee sun in my soul!
Climbing up the hollow on a single track dirt road through a ceder forest, listening to the rushing, gushing, steely black water cascading over slick black rocks. This water is bone chilling cold even on the hottest summer days, spring fed, narrow, steep and always in shadow. Now, in January, the only thing keeping this water liquid is its determined roaring energy. Half frozen slush piles up in the eddies, blue and white ice shelves form near shore, layers of ice form on the rocks under the current where the white water lets the air in. I examine the delicate intricate ice formations where water has slashed up and dripped down: undulating columns, gnarled branches, smooth wide ripples, lumpy bumpy nodules. This ice looks like rocks in some caves. I realize it’s the same process, in a cave stone accumulates out of water through time, here ice accumulates through temperature from the same wondrous source.
Our old kitchen table is scared, stained, well used. At each seat there are colorful place mats with matching cloth napkins folded and holding a sharp knife and pointed serrated spoon. There are two small worn familiar plates, each presenting a glowing golden orb, dimpled and blushing. My mouth waters in anticipation of that first taste of tangy tart summer sunshine! Balanced precariously atop one is a pair of plastic safety goggles. I chuckle at my husband’s kind, silly playfulness as I gladly put them on, sit down, and eagerly slice into my juicy grapefruit!
Golden shimmering tendrils of afternoon sunlight reach down the hill through dark bare trees scattering long shadows across the road. Driving through them creates a strobe effect so powerful I feel the force of light and dark on my skin. I turn to face the setting sun wavering large, hanging just above the crest of a hill while purple and blue shadows engulf the fields and forests. For now, I have golden sunlight in my eyes, a promise of longer days to come.