When I moved here some four years ago, I couldn’t see much when I looked out across the stubble straw stretch of brown. That one secret buried deep in my tightly held chest confirmed that I was too rooted to another place and another view to look fairly at any other. For that spread of time, the handsomely bordered deep sprawl of a window framed a scene that while without fail elicited “oohs” and “ahhs” from others, in cruel ruse turned flat and imperfect for my searching eyes.
I’d fix my gaze at nature’s playground with one hard eye scanning a mountain profile which didn’t crest quite as dramatically as certain others that I knew. I silently smirked at stick like trees that would pale and tremble at the thought of West coast giants, but this non stop comparison between here and there didn’t prevent the other eye from darting about in hope to find one small thing to seize upon. Still is the hard driving need within to forge a connection to the immediate environment, but that realization would have to wait until later.
Meanwhile deer and bears boldly ambled by separately but sometimes in pairs and startling Maxfield Parrish hues splashed the atmosphere with voluminous light and drama while I was too busy counting what was not. Things like cilantro, awful limp herbs at the local grocery store- never mind the grand eagle that soared by. And shocked I was to discover that people actually buy lemons and rosemary; even as poplar, birch, and fir seedlings seemed to exponentially populate the view. It is funny to say but I look out at the array of greenery, a rapidly filling in, once clear cut space- and try to find order within it by editing out unruly portions within my mind’s eye, cutting and pasting at whim. Perhaps if these few clumps were trimmed back and this area was taken out, the whole scene might look a little nicer. While I think that I have a good eye, one that catches shapes, proportions, and discerns proper hierarchy. At times more recently I wonder if my eyes see rightly at all, too often viewing the missing element or the one that irritatingly and erringly gets in the way.
Is it any wonder then when a friend rustles through that unruly back drop of wild and later plunks down a container brimming with slim waisted brambles- that I’m caught unaware? Twinkling blackish reddish blue, they are obvious accessory to some creeping low lying hitherto invisible bush. The captivating dark eyed beauties in my palm no longer escape attention and finally bring well needed adjustment to my limited view. With natural instinct, V_ followed the captivating arch from behind her truck to the woodpile out in back. While I was looking at poorly positioned trees; she was foraging nature’s bounty.Almost four years later and deserving of some kind of certificate I should think, I settle down to a deep bowl of yogurt splattered with honey and royally crowned with backyard blackberries. Impossibly in the past, I avoided blackberries and their ilk because of their seeds. But now I dig in with a sigh, as I impatiently wait for same time next year and marvel silently at all that finally is.
