The Crows...

The Alfred Hitchcock crows fly in every evening at dusk to roost in the cypress trees that are scattered about town. There are so many sitting on the telephone wires that you cannot see where one ends and the other begins. They darken the sky with their beating wings and their cries can be heard predicting catastrophies and screaming their good-nights to each other. You can see them swarming in on the tide of the skies, wind surfers every one. The smaller birds vie for space on the wires, in the trees, on rooftops, and even in the streets, but the crows are evidently the kings of the sky.

But wait. What is that in the topmost part of that pine tree? Is that a hawk? It sits there, regal on its throne, daring the crows to pretend they are in control. The crows know he is an unwelcomed guest in their drama. They beat their wings, herald their war cries, and begin to bombard this royal king of the skies. The crows are angry. How dare this young upstart try to take over their territory? Yet there he sits. Unperturbed by the crows attacks. For he knows. He knows that he has but to extend those massive wings, flex those sharp, hooked claws, and he will be dining on Ol' King Cole's pie, with four-and-twenty blackbirds as supper.

I watch this opera unfold as I am out for my evening walk. I afford myself a silent grin, knowing the birds are frustrated at the hawk's Rhett Butler attitude. He just doesn't give a damn.

I want to be that hawk. When the crows in my life are crowding me, drowning out my silence, attacking me with their boldness... I want to sit quietly upon my perch, knowing that I can bake King Cole's pie any damn time I want.

Love Letters

I get love letters from my husband. They are beautiful and make me smile. They are the words he speaks at home and he whispers when we are alone, but to see them in print makes them, somehow, more tangible... For those moments when I forget, or when I am lost in the heat of an argument and wonder what in the world I am doing here... I open my saved letters and re-read the words of devotion, of love, of committment, of joy, of gratitude... and I remember why it is I married this man.

Smoke Across the Plains...

As I sit here in my office, I am watching thick black smoke billowing across the plains. "Controlled burns" they call them. A purging of underbrush to prevent out-of-control fires later on in the hot, dry months. There is much preparation for these burns. Weather is checked, wind plays a factor, experienced fighters are prepared to set, watch, and control the blaze. Stand-by emergency crews are on notice just in case something shifts. Reassessment takes place on a minute-by-minute basis. The moment that the weather changes, the wind shifts, or it seems that the crew is no longer able to handle it, the fire is extinguished, regardless of the status of completion of the task.

And it makes me think about the application of this theory to my every-day life. What overgrown ideas, beliefs, and unnecessary thoughts crowd my existence? What thick, knotted underbrush chokes me and creates a hazard for those times my life is in a hot, dry spell? What controlled burning do I need to do now to prevent the out-of-control burns later on? Am I truly prepared to begin the controlled burn? It isn't enough that I set fire to what crowds out joy in my life, I must first be prepared. I must remain diligent and on the ready. Then, and only then, can I begin to remove that which threatens my future.

Am I ready? I think so. As I begin to meditate on my own existence, to explore what I believe, to expose the lies that I have been taught, to change my perceptions and thoughts and understanding, I stand at the ready to begin this controlled burn.

And for once, I am looking forward to the summer of my life, not worrying about destruction from the underbrush that has long since been cleared away in the autumn of my existence.