The sort of day where I have to wonder if it's the anniversary of someone's death whom I loved but which I've forgotten with my mind but my body maybe not or maybe that's not it at all, it's just a mood, a moon, and Mercury is in retrograde, or so they say and I don't believe in that shit anyway although maybe I do a little and to tell you the truth, that article I read may have been old or misinformed.
In my quest for The Great Mushroom Journey which I am hoping to take around my 60th birthday (should I be writing about this? I mean, for some unaccountable reason, these mushrooms are illegal to possess) I took a different walk today. I walked down the highway across Lloyd Creek
and it was hot and the logging trucks kept thundering down the road, forcing me to walk in the grass where ticks live but it wasn't so bad. I took a little side road where I used to walk a long time ago and it is beautiful and clay and dirt and thick woods enclosing the road from both sides like a dark, shady lover's arms. I used to dig ferns in those woods and they are the ones that grow now in my camellia bed.
I felt all alone in the world, no scat, no prints except for one dainty deer print. I walked up to where there used to be a cow pasture but now it is planted in something and no cows were in sight. I did, however, see these beautiful Morning Glories.
I trudged home, drenched in sweat and I actually took note of my shoes, which I think of as relatively new, to realize they have holes in both toes and are breaking down on the sides.
I don't even care. My body is much the same. Breaking down, for sure. And doesn't everything? It's all constantly trying to return to chaos, to dust, to that which mushrooms would thrive on. Mushrooms and worms and bugs of all sorts which do their pre-ordained job of breaking it all down so that there is room for new growth (yes, I realize there is always new growth) and sometimes I just grow weary thinking of it all, how there is no catching up and you can eat clean and you can do detoxes and you can exercise and take your supplements and floss your teeth and you can paint your house and you can weed your garden and you can cut your grass and trim your bush (yes, I meant to say that) and it's all going to fall apart anyway, every damn bit of it.
Somehow today that just pisses me off.
Tomorrow I may take comfort in the same thoughts.
The young chickens have finally made their way to the little banana/flower bed by the kitchen where the older chickens spend hours every day, scratching and pooping.
I never have to weed that bed. The Voodoo lily, which you can see if you look closely, is still growing but has no color. I wonder what it's going to do. Whatever it does, it will die after a time of glory.
But yes, of course, of course, the lily will spread and there will be more another year and it does go that way, there is that promise.
I need to take the trash, to sweep the floor, to do the laundry, to make the bed, to do all of the things I did yesterday or the day before. All of these things, over and over and that is life and maybe that's why the creation of something, whether art or craft, is such a glorious thing- it is stopping time and making something new among all of the old, old, old.
I roasted those carrots last night with tiny cut-up peeled sweet potatoes and a sliced Vidalia onion, tossed with olive oil and a little bit of brown sugar and they were delicious.
Thank god for food.
I think I will go eat some.