Friday, August 24--
10:30 a.m.-
Anchored in the
inner office near shore. EZ's off in the blueberries, racing, sniffing, exploring.
I'm sitting, feet up on the seat. A gorgeous day, cloudless, hazy blue, with
no hint of cold. Blue jays are jee-jeeing. The water's high in the channel.
Sun warm, air cool. I'm in a T-shirt and a funk. Don't know why. Just sort
of empty. And that shouldn't be, out here in a favorite place. Forced myself
to take a day off from other responsibilities to come out and just sit. But,
I'm not enjoying it, don't do well being bored. Work was boring last night.
I paced like a caged Como Zoo tiger, slinking and staring through iron bars
of a cinder block cell.
I'm going to force
myself to sit here for a half-hour; not start the motor to head elsewhere,
or home. Require myself to quiet. Sit and do nothing but listen, watch, think.
Allow the boredom to settle in. See what happens. See where my mind goes.
See where my attitude evolves.
An occasional breeze
wiffles the tall streamside grasses.
EZ just walked off
the riverbank onto the boat deck. She's standing, panting, looking around.
Now sitting, licking her chops. Very alert, alive to everything out here.
10:40-
A high-pitched whining.
Tiny bee, a sweat bee, hovering off the stern. Became aware of a faint "eeeeeeee,"
but louder, not like a mosquito. About the same song but shriller. Interesting
how they beat their wings fast enough to create that sound. How can wings
beat that fast? Something humans can't do, so I marvel.
10:53-
I've pulled away
from the bank, anchored in the middle of the channel, moved myself up onto
the bow deck, stretched out in the sun ... maybe for a nap. Wouldn't that
be fun. EZ's lying next to me, after some consternation as to what I was doing
invading her up-front territory. She stands over me. I open my eyes to her
dog face in mine; three inches from my eyes, looking down at me like "what's
goin' on? I patted the deck and she's now lying with her hip warm against
mine.
Soft soft air moving
over, through me, across my face. Touching, caressing the hairs on my arms.
Now it's moved off and away somewhere else. I hear it, but it's not nudging
me. Now a tiny tickle of movement on my forehead from a hair being stirred.
Still too early in this event for EZ to snooze; her head keeps jerking up
to new sounds, alive to whatever might need monitoring.
Grabbed the boat
towel, which was folded up under the foredeck after it's last laundering.
Got my head on it now, left arm crooked up over eyes to shield the sun strobing
through leaves, with enhanced pleasure and comfort level. Blue jays have moved
off, a crow is calling a quarter-mile away. Bellering ... bellowing? Billowing?
Tires treading asphalt is a constant faraway hum, an omnipresent low-level
sound at first, continuing in the nether regions of consciousness.
I'm in a time in
my life when I seem to be having to hurry. Hurry with busyness. Getting somewhere
yonder, or back. Errands and work keeping me from the contemplative nourishment
I've become accustomed to, feeling the lack of unstructured time with nothing
to do, when more actually happens than when I'm busy. Thinking thoughts, fritter
time and idle musings; times like this where I have little to do except think,
be bored.
Last week Friday,
I crossed the bridge on Midlake Road. Sixteen boats navigating the narrow
cramped channel. I was going fast and surely didn't see them all. Crazy, lunacy,
the madness of crowds with no time to think.
11:56-
I awoke with a start.
Sun heating us ... now laying in its full brightness.
I've pulled anchor
and am stuporously drifting. The angle of the light, the quality of the sun
has a changed feel to it. Sensing the passage of time went on without me,
while I snoozed. We live most the day being awake--brought along with the
changing of the sun's angle as it arcs.
Clouds are building,
summery, not threatening.
12:20-
Been playing with
the camera. Have been reminded to take things as they come. Drifting downward
I begin to see views, compositions I could not have seen from shore or made
up by myself. The boat drifts, scenes evolve, and all I've got to do is be
ready. Watch as they emerge, unfold, and when they are ripe ... click. Some
of the most profound occurrences in life take place when I don't demand that
things work out the way I thought they ought. Being ready for whatever moves
into and through my view is the way life works better. Life is a relaxed passage.
Doing as I can as circumstances and opportunities present. These are the sorts
of musings I needed from a day alone on the river, a day alone anywhere. I
must remember this, mustn't allow myself to get so busy, distracted.
Drifting along.
Past the spot where I anchored and swam a month ago. The water is high and
the tree branches are low against the water unlike they were then. I glanced
over my shoulder, saw them coming and realized there's not any way to escape
this approaching trauma unless the motor is started to negotiate around it.
I thought "relax, just drift through it."
We moved closer,
like an impending car crash in very slow motion. The inevitable approaches.
The crash imminent. We began drifting through branches, not nearly so bad
as I had anticipated, tangled and scratched and dragged out of the boat. Water
pulled us through, without my controlling the circumstances. Then we were
free.
How often is the
tendency to panic when seeing potential danger approach. We jump up and down.
We screech, boil water, begin pounding plywood over the windows, hoarding
supplies and gnashing teeth, preparing for doom. If we would slow down and
watch the looming peril we would certainly learn that it's nothing to be startled
about. How often the danger comes to nothing, like Hurricane evacuations.
If I study the trouble I'm better prepared to withstand it by moving slightly
an inch or two as branches and other hurricane traumas of life close in. If
busied in a flurry of panic, distracted by fear of "what's going to happen,"
I don't have time to scrutinize and think about what actually is
going to happen. And it's never as bad.