SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Thursday, Aug. 04, 2005 @ 12:46 am
Sun Beat-ing Down



I wake from a nap, a dream, and my arms ache because I've curled them so tightly to myself.

It is dark outside, and I realize that I'm relieved that the sun is down. The sun is so strong this summer - or is it just that it shines so rarely here that I am unused to the relentless skin-searing rays?

I ride my bicycle to work these days. The sun beating down from the sky, beating up from the pavement. The city is drying out, and it seems unnatural. This evergreen city becoming dusty and brown. Maybe the dryness is the reason I feel tired these days. I duck down to my basement room, ignoring the sunny back deck, and tuck into bed. I read, but my eyelids weigh down and then I am asleep.

One night I drove out to the farm - one year, four seasons, of memories. I turned off the engine and Timathy slept while I got out of the van. I walked up to the gate, helpless without my keys, and looked in on the sheet-metal buildings and sulfurus flood lights. My mind rolled over in sadness and longing. It was at this time of night that I would step into my two-sizes-too-big rubber boots and walk out to the barns to do night checks. Two cats, sometimes three would stalk me, and the dogs would gallop ahead of me, giddy with the smell of herdable sheep.

I loved the light then. The sun would bring dew up off the grass, creating an intoxicating lush green-smelling mist. I lived in perpetual light with floor-to-ceiling windows and a yellow painted kitchen. Vines overtook the cupboards and trailed down across the walls.

Now underground, the same plants are skeletal and withering. Just barely making it by. I don't have curtains because there is no light to bother keeping out. I feel weighed down by the rows of textbooks that cover a wall of my room: Biology, Ecology, Plant Physiology, Understanding Earth. I will probably never open any of them ever again, but I keep them like medals, proof that I was once younger and hopeful and studious.

From the nap I surface, stretching my limp aching arms. I am suddenly saddenend with my pet rat. In her cage I know she is safe but what kind of life is she living? I could set her free but she would surely die from her naivety. Is my duty to protect her and let her heart beat as many times as possible? But what good is a steady sedate heartbeat if there is no difference between the first beat and the last?

Developmental Biology, Immunology, Microeconomic Analysis, Modern Genetic Analysis, Evolutionary Analysis... Literature and Its Writers...


Mt Baker as seen from the Chain Lakes Trail, July 30 2005


Roots | Shoots