When the signs pointing the way have disappeared, perhaps this is a bigger opening to life than you can imagine: flying blind into the future, and then finding yourself in an unexpected place, the one you never intended to go to but where you really are meant to be.
I wrote a long post last night with pictures of my walk around my block just before twilight. Thought I took a video hoping to capture the bird songs and the rushing creek, but it was gone when I downloaded the pictures on my computer. And then two hours later, when I posted here, half of my work vanished.
The process was still important because I was in the space of creativity. And who is to say that this one picture doesn’t have more meaning than another fifteen or so?
Last night, bird calls were all around. I live, not in old growth, but in trees that probably haven’t been cut for close to sixty or seventy years. Birds are everywhere, especially now that it is spring. The pileated woodpecker couple has come back. I’ve heard their cry, a savage king and queen of the forest type of thing, but haven’t seem them yet. They like to poke holes in the pine trees right in front of my living room window.
The creek was also flowing hard and sounding swift, a rain storm between its banks.
And my writing here, though not my original narrative, is what is now my present. The sky looks the way it did last night. Early morning. Early evening. Twin times. As I look out at Cobb and the subtle shades of green on maple and fir and pine and oak, their trunks a silvery green, the sweet cry of birds unlock the day.
When have you lost your place, only to find yourself?