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Morning Song by Darlinggirl
 
March 2004
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Darkness made visible...
March 2, 2004

All of my life, I've been described as sunny and cheerful, some people find that perfectly fine, others (mostly in my husband's family it seems) find it perfectly irritating. Strange, though, I'm no stranger to the dark side of life...contary to my personality, tragedy and ugliness and stupidity and greed and pain affect me strongly.

That's not what I want to talk about this morning.

I've never known exactly what to call "It" . Oh, I've put tremendous effort into taming it and hiding it deep deep down...in the basement, so to speak, of my life.

It sneaks up on me at the most unexpected times: When a kiss goes from soft and tender...slides into heated and hot...peaks and rises and roars and whimpers into teeny wee bites all along my lower lip. Parts of my brain instantly goes, "Hold on, what's this??" and other parts scream and whisper and shakes in frustration. Rattling the bars, so to speak.

It has only happened in the presence of perhaps, maybe three people in my whole life...and of course, for the last twenty years, it's just been one person.

There is this terribly interesting relationship between It taking over and several things...oh, the weather. Yes, the weather...I love slashing, wild rainstorms and dark deep velvet blizzards. Gentle mountain showers (what Granddaddy called "Dog's Day showers") with ice-cold drops and the high sun peaking out behind purple billowy clouds...slamming fierce roaring racing wind tossing people about as if they were leaves.

Slow, syrupy-sticky warm East Texas summer nights, after one of those moody Gulf thunderstorms...the scent of pine and magnolia and jessamine wafting through thrown open doors and windows, rambling roses raining down the roof's overhang and careening madly about double wood windows. Emerald green Bermuda grass, slick and shiny from rain, wraith-like twisting mists hovering just under the trees.

A hand about the throat when kissing or gazing into eyes to see that knee-shivering change flash in his eyes. Outside, under the trees, feet stained green and bits of leaves and crepe-myrtle blossoms in my hair.

What, exactly, is that change I see flash in his eyes? I cannot recall a time when I have't been absolutely fascinated by this. (Even, for the briefest of moments, when I see it flash in the eyes of a man I have no interest in whatsoever...which truthfully, is just about 99.9 percent of the whole sex.)

In a terribly romantic dark little alley in Victoria, BC, I've not only seen flashes of that change, I dangerously and recklessly provoked it...and made myself look right into his eyes as they darkened, flared, changed . Oh, there was someone behind those eyes...someone I didn't know quite so well as the man who lives there. (Ohhhhh, how I adore that man!)

Well. I can blame this little lapse into...what??? On the Moon, it's easing up on being Full and last night there was completely perfect ring encircling it. I went outside to gaze up at the moon and listen to the wind in the trees...feel the moon fill my eyes...shiver 'cause in the desert it's mostly too hot or freezing.

Came back inside and childlishly slammed the door, it made a most fulfilling CRASH into the air...sending out waves of my disgust at this place...broadcasting my discontent, so to speak. Heehee. As if any one heard or cared. Heehee. As if I care if anyone out here cares or not. They can't really help it, I suppose, they don't know any better. Still. I cannot fathom people and places that seem to so totally invite and embrace dirt, ugliness, grimness, soul-killing indifference and apathy.

It's funny how things affect us. The approach of Spring used to signal nice things...a least a hope of nice things. Here, we dread it mightily.

So of course, that sends me off into awakening ghosts of Spring past, Spring in other places.

That has been BigTimeRevealation NumberTwo of the past nine months...everything else can be pretty much all right and some things just about perfect...and then I step outside the door. Or spend an afternoon running errands in the full flat lemon-light that picks out every scraped raw mountain, highlights the smoky fires from across the border and makes everyone look awful. Sullen, hostile, and even the beggars act very aggressively and threatening.

That deep dark worry as we try to live here...in the backyard of the ThirdWorld...Is this the future?

 
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