Plug In, Bliss Out

I have a picture in my head. Can you see it? No, I didn't think so and that's a shame. I long for the day when technology advances to the point where we can transfer images in our head to a free, easily accessible medium. In the meantime, maybe a port could be installed behind my ear and a cable run from brain to laptop to the blogosphere.

Until then, I'll grapple with the English language, attempting to describe sights, sounds, feelings and sensations that will pull you into the moment.

Okay? Everyone take a deep breath and engage your imagination. Here we go...

Two windows dominate the southeast wall of the bedroom. Because my living quarters are in the basement, they are inset at ground level and rise some 50 plus inches where they meet the ceiling. At the moment, no window coverings block the view of trees grown tall and slender over time. The canopy of leaves reach so high I have to tilt my head sideways to see the top, swaying gracefully on a crisp fall breeze. Streams of early morning sunlight illumine all it dissects. In this light, lichen-covered tree trunks look dressed in emerald trousers, fine enough to lead a St. Patrick's day parade. In the lower canopy, a sumac is afire with blood red leaves, seductive as they flutter like lashes on the tips of thin branches.

Then there are the birds, whose flight casts fleeting shadows on the wall. Two chickadees plunge beak first into the bird feeder, fueling up on oil-rich safflower seed which will keep their breasts plump and warm during the winter days ahead. They are joined by a titmouse, with its signature table manners. After selecting the perfect seed, the titmouse retires to the crooked metal arm that supports the feeder with seed clutched firmly in its foot. With rapid fire movement it taps, taps, taps until the shell splits to reveal the soft kernel. Such percussion rings out clink, clink, clink, like a blacksmith striking hammer to anvil.

It's this time of morning when the air is not invisible ether, but infused with color, texture and tone. You can feel its supple thickness on your fingertips, see the air currents before your very eyes swirling, lifting, dropping to the ground as temperatures rise and dew evaporates, defying gravity.

Too soon, the moment passes as the sun rises higher in the sky. Before it does, I rush outdoors in bare feet, raise my hands to the sky and breath this river of life into my soul.