Everyone
falls in love differently. Often, seldom; people, oak trees, dogs, places,
paintings, the ocean, your rowboat, that song on the jukebox, your best friend
when you were five, your new baby, your seventeenth journal, those wicked great
boots.
Myself, I fall in love a lot. With my beloved, at times with my kids, with friends, with strangers I glimpse, with crabby postmasters, with kind convenience store clerks, with every kid and animal and old person and struggling person.
And most of all, with places.
So even if I don't get to travel the world over or see lots of people or things, I seem undeterred, and fully capable of going out some days when the light is just right and the wind and clouds somehow are sublime, and falling in love all over the place.
With the reflection in this puddle and those geese in their lives, flying by overhead.
And the coyotes who are wandering round my house most nights, going about living their lives, too.
And with that tree on the corner, and those goose tracks, like remarkable art, in the mud. And that one tiny possum who survived the whole winter, and last night wandered down this muddy road , in the pitch black night.
I fall for seasons and trees struggling in the drought of summer and the field next door, with artifacts from the Native People, whom my own kind pushed away, from their own land, when we came here as welcomed immigrants.
I fall for springtime Oak and Beech leaves still hanging on, to prevent microbial infections. And my five crow siblings, three years old now, off with the hundreds of other crow , but who still come to my compost, and call to urge me to bring leftovers out.
Falling in love is risky and tough stuff, opening your heart and mind all the time to other lives and other ways. To care and have all those lives matter.
And yet, sometimes we are just wired this way. So that life and breath and co-existence simply is love.
Myself, I fall in love a lot. With my beloved, at times with my kids, with friends, with strangers I glimpse, with crabby postmasters, with kind convenience store clerks, with every kid and animal and old person and struggling person.
And most of all, with places.
So even if I don't get to travel the world over or see lots of people or things, I seem undeterred, and fully capable of going out some days when the light is just right and the wind and clouds somehow are sublime, and falling in love all over the place.
With the reflection in this puddle and those geese in their lives, flying by overhead.
And the coyotes who are wandering round my house most nights, going about living their lives, too.
And with that tree on the corner, and those goose tracks, like remarkable art, in the mud. And that one tiny possum who survived the whole winter, and last night wandered down this muddy road , in the pitch black night.
I fall for seasons and trees struggling in the drought of summer and the field next door, with artifacts from the Native People, whom my own kind pushed away, from their own land, when we came here as welcomed immigrants.
I fall for springtime Oak and Beech leaves still hanging on, to prevent microbial infections. And my five crow siblings, three years old now, off with the hundreds of other crow , but who still come to my compost, and call to urge me to bring leftovers out.
Falling in love is risky and tough stuff, opening your heart and mind all the time to other lives and other ways. To care and have all those lives matter.
And yet, sometimes we are just wired this way. So that life and breath and co-existence simply is love.
https://www.facebook.com/GwenMcClellanWordsandPictures/videos/1240271362676312/
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