Last night C and I were walking on the waterfront promenade between Canton and Fells as we often do. The sky was clear. The crescent moon was crisp and glorious. The water was high and calm. A heron watched little fish jump in the moonlight at the mouth of the Jones Falls.
It was seasonably warm but around my (typically sock-less) ankles I could feel an intermittent undercurrent of cool air. It swirled around akin to if one was standing in a pounding surf and the water eddies around the ankles as the waves recede. I'd feel small swirling breezes here and there as we walked. . .
Magic? Imagination? Change?
I've decided it's change. Not just change in the weather. Change nipping at my ankles. Change urging me forward. Change offering possibilities.
I think it's as fleeting as the breeze. It can be as elusive as the sand slipping away from your toes in the surf. I'm going to grasp what I can. I'm going to dig in my toes and feel the exhilaration and unpredictability of change ebb and flow. I want to feel it's brisk unforgiving nature as well as it's soft gentle laps.
After all, I have changed. I will continue to change, evolve. Just as transformative as the wind and water are to our landscape, change is weathering me into something less sharp and less ragged (and I'm not talking about my plumpness). If I were the Rockies in my 20s, I'm becoming more like the Appalachians in my 30s. I quite like it.
No longer do I feel the desire to have a business card with an important sounding title. No longer do I fixate on the latest fashion accessories. No longer do I care to have a "better" car, TV, or house.
I've changed and I've grown and I've learned and understood possibly more this past year than even in my first year of life. I'm not done. I'm having too much fun.
What's all this pontificating? Why has d reverted to bizarre philosophy? Can't we just go back to the Mulva art you ask?
Of course we will. . .All work at change and no fun at old pursuits surely makes d a complete freak.
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