I'm sitting here, Tuesday at noon, eating a bucket of prunes.
They're actually quite good, the things that bring health to your body. I'm growing to like these sorts of things more and more, as I realize their direct effect in my blood and bones and brain cells.
But that's not the reason I'm writing today.
I'm only writing because I feel 50. Or like I've lived already 50 years. But in the best possibly way. I feel I've hiked Snyder's trail, the one in the backcountry, and I'm on one of those windy grassy knolls near the top, overlooking the valley. Thank God for moments like this.
I don't want to take any droplet of Grace for granted. Lately they've been coming in great rushes. Or maybe they just feel that way after living in this land of drought. I walked by the fountain two days ago. It was dry. It has to be right now. I understand that. But I know as real as day that once it held water, and two soaked dancing bodies hoping so hard and so truly.
The dinosaurs died. I know that. Maybe they were in the desert too long without water, and they just keeled over and were snuffed out. I know that happens sometimes. It's just it doesn't look like that will happen now.
Now seems to be the time for drives alone, listening to girls singing about staying gold, and silver linings while passing cows, and crickets at night. A time for biking to the store to buy ingredients for a soup to make and eat alone, by a candle, and listen to TEDtalks. We have to be okay with this. We have to be ok with life.
Maybe that's why I feel 50. Im getting to be more ok. And when I cry these days, yes, sometimes it's because I'm reminded of hurt and pain, but more often it's the beauty of a thing that touches me deep, and cracks at my soul. Maybe maturity isn't so much "getting over things", but rather "not letting them overtake you". And focusing always, on what's good.
Maybe we'll be dinosaurs for now and as long as it takes. Here we are wandering, making a life for ourselves in the sandstorms. I'm an active dinosaur. An ernest hopeful one, that believes with any next gust, a rain will sprinkle, a bud will grow for us to eat and we'll keep on keepin on, living. And maybe one day even dancing again in enough water to fill a fountain.
Don't ya think real living requires just as much craziness as sanity?
I'd like to think so.
