Ramblings. As in: Have Words -Will Ramble. As in: Ramble: to write or talk aimlessly or without sequence of ideas, to proceed with turns and twists; meander As In: observances of an everyday life in passing through the spectrum of extraordinary.
Nashville Bound
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
There are rumors of snow in Nashville. You can begin to hear it here and there. “Somebody said Snow this Friday.” “I heard it was going to snow!” I don’t see snow in the forecast but then I can be looking between the lines. It’s been an interesting autumn for me. It’s been a seasonal time. Originating from North Florida (not to confuse the landscape and temperatures with South Florida) we think we have seasons – we really do. Because there is hot, hotter, cooler and cold. My mother tells me ice-sickles use to shoot up out of the ground. She tells me how things used to be and I believe her. But it’s not that cold in North Florida anymore and I guess it never will be. I guess if we put our ears to the ground and listen real close we can hear the ice melting, feel the greenhouse effect kicking in.
But here in Nashville, there is still something called seasons and I’ve been a part of it this year. Not that I wasn’t last year or the year before – but I wasn’t. Not really. I was an innocent bystander when the grey seemed eternal during the winter. I was a voyeur when spring rolled around and the city became fresh and pink with promise. And a reporter to all of my family by phone when spring faded into summer and the green was layered with more green and yet more green. I would call home and report, “There are more shades of green than one,” I’d say.
And they'd agree, “Well, of course, we have more shades of green than one here. There is dark green and that green over there.”
“Yes, yes, but there is a shade in between and then an even darker one.”
But something happened to me in sequence with the leaves changing this year. I stopped reporting. Not that I didn’t call and say, “Their changing now.” Or “You should see. I wish you could see.” But I breathed into the change. I let go of summer and embraced fall and at the same time didn’t cringe and dread with the knowledge that this too would pass, that the grey winter was just beyond reach. And I was right. The leaves have dropped and now I can look out the window and see the “No ASK Lake - so christened by husband and me for the sign that stands at its borders – No Fishing, No Swimming, No asking. (Well it’s a subdivision and I guess fishing and swimming and even asking could cause a major ruckus.) But like I said, the leaves have dropped and now I can see the ‘NO ASK” even without belonging. And I can hear the geese, as invisible to me in the summer as the Lake, flying low and calling out, and finding the place they call their winter home.
Cousin Deb called yesterday and asked, “So how’s the weather?”
“Blustery,” I say.
“Blustery? What’s blustery? Is that like blistery?” With a blink of a word I think of summer, of Florida and Gulf Coast summers. Of white sand and seagulls and red skin that would scream for aloe and later turn to tan.
“No,” I say, “Not at all like blistery - it’s blustery.” And what I’m thinking is it’s a Winnie the Poo kind of day. A Christopher Robin kind of day. A day where anything can happen. And I wrap my scarf around my neck and step outside.
I’m thinking of 4 months of grey days and low clouds and the kind of cold that normally makes me cringe. (This means anything below 70) But maybe the fact is after being in Nashville for a few years. I know with a certainty of what lies on the other side of this. New Life. Rebirth. And I know what this time is good for. Reflection, introspection, and remembering. (Or maybe it happens to be a really good time for eating 'a meat and three' in a small diner full of people jostling to take off coats and scarfs and fill themselves with the warm comfort of food and the conversation of their companions.)
Maybe I’m becoming more of a Nashvillian. Or maybe I’m becoming more of a human being. Embracing the seasons in life as they come. And releasing them in due time to make room for the next one. Breathing in. And breathing out. Understanding that there is a purpose for the rhythm of life. And it is good.
Many Blessings to each of you at Thanksgiving. In our country and beyond our borders.
And in all your travels in life –
Safe Journey.
River Jordan
posted by River Jordan at 7:07 AM
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