Oh, one saved blog post after another, draft after draft, like yellowing paper and envelope of days gone by with no stamp, no destination, no finished piece; that's how its been in my blog-sphere of late.
I'm writing again however. Where the inspiration came from I don't know.
So many drafts of stops and starts-no endings-lots of yesterdays.
I purged from my mind and heart what I needed too, I suppose, and found, well, not a strong woman standing here but one whom rather run to tomorrow and start again, and again.
And find? hm, yes, find comfort in images of places I've been.
It's haunting in the off season at Harrison Lake but, in the right frame of mind it can be quite magical.
The wind off the vast lake is biting this time of month. I yearn for the warmth of spring like no other, though, ah, the mountains in the far-far distance across the lake usher thoughts of patience; the snow dressing the mighty peaks gives me an odd chill down my spin and a slight feeling of awe of who's in power, where closer I sense more than see lingering ghost's that come in and out of the Fir trees lining the beach, left of me, where a trail winds to an old cement encased hot spring, spitting out steam and sharp scents of eggs.
Off the path and through the old growth of the trees I see what was once a very old street light tilting on its side, English in style, transcending images in my head of time long ago- men in suits and top hat, and dainty women holding ruffly umbrellas wearing Victorian dresses. They came. I know they did, pulling back into the forest a present culture, now ghost's of the forest and ancestors presently drumming, calling out to the children and of the Eagle with each beat of the drum; carry on, carry on. Whispers into the wind, traditions. Carry on.
There isn't much stirring along the sidewalks lining the store fronts along the beach. A sense of eeriness lightly touches the corners of my mind, giving me notions that of being watched, though, I see nothing straight on but to the corner of my eyes.
Little beings and magical powers ducking in and out of doorways?
I smell the faint scent of jasmine incense with a hint of a melody chiming with soothing notes (the Dragon Fly Store).
I approach this mystical store of many unique gifts and peer into-faint light.
The sign on the door say's closed for the winter, though, hm, oddly enough I could have sworn I just saw movement. Blinking a couple of times to clear my eyes from wind-tears, I peer in again to see...."what-the-heck?" falls out of my mouth.
I see fluttering around in and out of the shadows what quite possibly could be a firefly, "right here! in the store!" I can't believe it, never have I seen a real firefly, EVER. But that wasn't the only movement that came about, to my utter shock a dragon fly out of no where accompanied the firefly in a dance that stilled me when they landed on the inside-store-window, buzzing their wings in a fast fashion cropping up a dust that sprinkled a small area of the window, from which I was peering through with substance-like-glitter, making me jump, then laugh.
The melody I heard earlier of a song grew louder inside. The world that I carried on my shoulders slowly lightened, then dissipated. A couple holding hands passed by and smiled at me, I smiled back, though quickly peered into the store window-nothing moved. Confusion surrounded me but not as much as the confusion I felt when I looked back at the couple now walking away that smiled, clad in colorful native-Indian-garb and wearing moccasins on their feet- Eagle feathers adorning long strands of hair twirling like the many wind chimes in motion along the store fronts magically, and, hm, yet with no wind.....
A whisper came then and I knew it was from my own voice, hanging in the air questioning out loud, searching my mind for stability, finding that what one can't explain though feel comfort in has no importance for any explanation at all.... for time brings us strange and wonderful things, even from the past to the present, lessons and healing.
I turned from the Dragon Fly store and caught a glimpse of something sitting on one of the few wooden bench's set out for summer tourist's. Coming closer I could see a small leather satchel with a draw string laced with many glass colored beads-clearly it was native, and clearly it was left, but for whom? for me?
I sat next to the satchel and placed it in my hands, feeling the soft of the leather and marveling over the ancient beads.
Slowly, gently, I loosened the draw string and the mouth of the satchel fell open.
A puff of dust stirred up into the afternoon air smelling faintly like sage, and, out from the satchel flew with the speed of light, one fire fly and precisely... one very obvious...and excitable dragon fly. Around and around they went around my head; I sat still not knowing what to do when suddenly I felt all my being, that of mind-body-and-soul come together, lifting my spirits up, up, until it tickled; I laughed out loud then. And as soon as I laughed? my little winged friends dissipated into the thin air.
I didn't question it, I knew better, for all things not explained can be gifts, its all in how you perceive it, so, with that, and the satchel still sitting in my lap?
I realized now the native Indian man and his whisper that now rung softly near my ear-" you need not know of all the answers to life my little Ginger bug, but, seek the solace in your soul. It is in nature's creatures, mystical and small-take note of the guidance-hearing the beat of your heart and the faint tap of the drum-the scents of sage and know, for all questions need not have an answer and have little substance in truth. Seek not but know, the little things special will grow."