(though
I do have a picture and will be updating this post at some point with it, it’s
not here now if this note is being read. – tech issues).
-----------------------------
It
was a long stretch of one lane highway. Incredibly so. Leaving behind the urban
sprawl that you can’t call out on paper (people just want to live in places), I
felt nonetheless that it was among other things overcrowded, kitsch-like, somewhat
decadent (if something can be ‘somewhat’ decadent), rather w/out soul, non-creative, unoriginal and boastfully so.
I
noticed that there were no cars in the front or the back. Usually there is at
least someone, and that is normal enough. Yet, it was one of those magical
times, and an Indian summer to boot. There was actually a wind coming across
some flaxen fields and I had just passed a Christmas tree farm that leaves the
sign up all year. The sign says, get this, - ‘Christmas Trees.’ I always find
it funny or ironic to see the sign under the great and boisterous morning star
that shines, that lets itself out and down upon the earth so bright, say, in
the July day, that everyone you do happen to see wears sunglasses and shorts.
The
highway. Nobody coming. It was almost like the perfect time to do something,
but there was nothing to do but keep on towards the destination, the dog walk.
Then I saw played a game and drove slowly. Most people might speed, but not me,
- if anything I have the soul of an aged one, - in ways anyhow, - and think
that everyone should slow down. So I do.
Then
I see the deer.
I
shall call this one a ‘he’, though I don’t know. I came to a stop to let him
pass. How beautiful he was, a coat or back that received the light, - grown
legs, lanky and a bit unsure for the road and the situation and perhaps another
reason I don’t know. He looks at me and it’s like he is asking permission to
cross. Are you trustworthy? Maybe
this is what he thinks. This sure looks like it is what he thinks. Then he
slowly goes across and when he gets to the shoulder takes off down into some
bushes. I glance thinking I shall see him going ‘off yonder’ like something out
of what? - Zane Grey or Jack London or whatever. But it’s like he was a vision,
a piece of real mercury in the end there.
Vanished.
Some
sadness erupts and it is surprising that this shows up.
I
look at the empty fields. A car then does come past from the other direction.
Nobody would ever know he had been there. I carry on. The deer I once read, is
an auspicious sign, and in some native cultures can symbolize family. This is
well and right I think, though I don’t know what anything means.
I
continue along. I and my furry friends shall soon be around a small pond and
the thick evergreens. There will be a long walk up and along the top of a
mysterious valley where wild mushrooms grow numerous and confidently on fallen
parts of birch trees. I’ll go far and far, wide and long, surveying a sand pit
where some strange bird has dug a secret hole that little stalks of green and
yellow bamboo grow ‘round. I’ll be searching.
Enlightenment
was a monumental bore. What can be done with it? I’ll be a seeker again,
delving back into the dual. Praying to the Virgin Mary, to St. Theresa, to the
Holy Family all. I’ll not think of the smart ones, the clever ones, but instead
the salt of the earth types. Autumnal hues announcing themselves and I’ll take
note and be a proper witness. The nights, cool and spacious, with dreams and
leaves that roll down streets and tumble over grates on their way to somewhere.
What shall we dream as the frost forms and Thanksgiving or Halloween tries to
reach closer? In the day, beside the old fences and under the quiet blue sky, I’ll
drive far away, as best I can, - and keep a lookout for that great deer like a
vision under the Indian summer afternoon
sun.
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