A Tide of Swallows

His feathers bleached by sunlight, bedraggled and hoarse, that crow still performed his duty, calling out the hidden until the skies had darkened and the hunter had slinked home. A mixed-up day at work had me on the learning side of life, which actually is where I love to be.

As I entered the crosswalk in the early darkness, I heard a rhythmic scratching on the asphalt, faint but purposeful next to me, and as I reached the other side of the road, something small and fast shot past me and plunged hurriedly into the bushes having used my body as an unknowing cover until safety was in reach. I had a wonderful visit with my hair stylist, who is now my friend, or perhaps my friend who is also my hair stylist, talking about the art of place and the current state of nerd pop culture.

Tonight, hanging in the southern skies, the sodalite clouds finally broke through the haze of smoke as the wind changed direction and the trees breathed deeply in response. It was a good end to a long week and now the last weekend before our Canadian vacation kicks into gear, a weekend we’ve begun to pare down so that we can feel energized for the adventure.

We stood on the porch, listening to the soft, gentle evening rain patter on the split wood, smelling the scent of the hungry Earth and the willing sky – the deep nasal-filling fragrance of awakened soil edged with a sharp, tinny ozone. It ended up being one of those rare weekends where you plan very little and your spirit fills the gaps with awareness and inner conversations, naps on the sofa, and the first glimmer of autumnal nesting.

There’s an edge in the air now as the temperature drops towards September, the first tinge of chill breeze that appears suddenly, shyly, and before you can fully notice, it has faded back into the late summer sunshine. Canada is now less than a week away and I am readying myself to launch into the week, trying not to wish the time away, and yet eager to climb about the ferry.

And finally, he has accepted that I will honor his space, to speak softly, to move slowly, to provide him with connection for just as long as he requires and not a second longer and in return, I am reminded of my departed whiskered companion, sleek black fur hot from laying in the sun, thick frame breathing deeply, white belly the softest trap. I fell into an early groove this week with work, helped by provided isolation and long hours inside my own head to sort out problems that nobody will ever know I solved.

The night is quiet and the cool breeze goosebumps the skin, the midnight sun fades to dark as the season ages, the feeling of being in-between is unmistakable, for even as the honey bees search the dried flowers in the daytime and the spiders curl into the corners away from the sun, the night holds the promise of change coming slowly but certainly. It was another very productive day at work while I continue to check things off our vacation list and keep counting down to the wilderness.

And now comes the time of the blackberry as the late summer fruit ripens and the thick vines stretch across the sidewalk, their perfect black treats irresistible to passers by like me. I had a completely lost evening tonight as I tried to complete a towering list of pre-vacation tasks, tasks that seem to take much longer than they should, leaving me awake at night trying to account for a few misplaced hours.

I was interrupted today by the spiders tucked away in the corners of the door frame and found myself wondering what it must be like to remain nearly motionless for hours until something enters your sphere of vibration, and what that could teach the restless parts of me. In a few minutes, we begin packing for Canada which is now less than 24 hours away.

A gentle sun shower fell from the lenticular clouds that hovered like floating islands above the highway, casting a double rainbow above the field of dry grasses that glinted like hidden pots of gold. We barreled down the highway on our way to Canada, stopping off for a brief night sleep in an Anacortes Air BnB before the early ferry the next morning.

The barred owl dozed in the early evening, a soft ball of feathers tucked away in the tree bough and we watched him; there seemed to be no separation of wood and bird, only nature merging into itself.  After a long day of traveling, we once again reached our familiar destination and settled in for a few days of wilderness immersion mixed with small town Canadian life.

On that primordial beach cloaked in mist, as the wails of sea birds echoed from the grey beyond, we stood above the hidden pools of treasure carved into the ferrous rock, temporary worlds of urchin, hermit crab, mussels and tiny fish left behind by the retreating ocean.  We had a very wandering directionless day today, confused by retrograde planets, but still ended up together and connected for a late evening adventure.

I watched the morning sky as the moon devoured the sun in eclipsed totality, watched the night sky as the shooting stars streaked across the Milky Way, and in-between there was the high-pitched laughter of loons and the throaty chuckle of Ravens on a long stretch of empty beach. After another set of miscommunications and unwanted hassles, we changed direction and ended up for many hours reading, talking tarot, and unwinding on one of our favorite Canadian beaches.

The mist rode the water inland, hiding the far shore, snaking around bleached driftwood and dark boulders raised from the sea bed, and we unwound into it, with a red squirrel sleeping beside us, a hungry mink patrolling the receding tide, and the inhalation and exhalation of waves sucking at the polished stone boundary. We had the best day of the trip so far, losing ourselves into Sombrio beach for a lazy afternoon.

There at the edge of the forest we watched the waves crash and withdraw, carving delicate branches into the wet sand with tumbling stone brushes, and we talked about our lives and a growing yearning for wildness. My last view of the Canadian beaches brought with it my usual intense melancholy, buried feelings that I cannot control or fully understand exploding from somewhere deep inside of me, regret, yearning for presence, and a wistful and painful separation mixed with overwhelming gratitude. 

When I leave the wild places, I leave a piece of myself behind; In the empty spaces, the vibrant soul of where I’ve been thrums and urges me to return until its voice fades and its message becomes memory, and I am at the same time full and empty, a patchwork creature looking hungrily towards the trees, the mountains and the water as more of myself is replaced by them. Reintegration is a rough road and I am questioning my life deeply at the moment.

I’m not sure where the day went, but it was not out the window; the screens and the floating code and poor adherence to hourly breaks made me a prisoner indoors. This was a very long day, mainly due to work, but also due to a lethargy I can’t seem to shake.

There’s always solace to be found on the porch in the wee hours of the morning when the long dark has come and the humans have vanished behind their glowing windows, for this is the time of stillness and wind and starlight when I can fall backwards into the vastness of every sense and become absorbed by all that is not me. It was a surprisingly busy day today and made me remember that you end up paying for any vacation or long weekend on both ends.

One of the most important things I’ve learned from doing this project is that the seasons do not change linearly, at least not in Seattle; at the tail end of each, as the old begins to fade into the new, there is a tremendous resurgence, a last and usually dramatic statement before the inevitable occurs. I spent the Sunday a bit lost, working on tarot projects, struggling with technology, as the summer heat rose again and the apartment became somewhat unlivable.

In the midst of a stressful day, I opened the door and felt the heat explode inward, blowing a red and orange spider into the room on a string of webbing; both of us tossed and turned in our own ways and scurried up and down our various lines of stability looking for a cessation of motion. A surprise work deadline has me worrying about the weekend and hoping I can escape for the four days I desire to visit with a close friend properly.