Posts Tagged ‘Oil in the Gulf’

Dance On

June 17, 2010

I walked to the beach this morning – yielding myself to the music of change, yielding also to Music the dog’s strong pull in that direction.  It was good to yield, despite the heat, the  distance, and the fear of what I might find. Yes… Facing even the fearful changes that come our way can be a good thing. I speak of the oil – avoided in this blog for weeks. I have not been unaware. The horror and the growing threat to familiar and beloved environs have accompanied my every moment, even as life continued. My immediate dance kept happening – keeps on happening. Personal joys and sorrows are unavoidable, distracting us momentarily from catastrophic happenings in the world out there. Out there…

As I follow the eager little dogs along the familiar road that culminates in the long sandy beach, the fringe of marshes, the expanse of wind-swept sound, I can smell the oil – stronger, borne by the breezes off the gulf. I let it be. I won’t let it stop me from  my destination – whatever that means. We make the curve, let gravity help us descend the sloping way. The little dogs veer now and then to sniff or to mark where other dogs have trod. They are not looking up when the vista opens before us. I let myself pause to take in the scene. The setting has healed from Katrina. The beauty of young Pines against the sky, the marsh-bordered water, the stretch of sand is undeniable. Also undeniable are the trucks, the workmen, the opaque fencing protruding from the glimmering water. The fencing, along with the long snaking booms of a garish yellow color, are being placed optimisticly all along the coastline. All that can be done is being done – one hopes.

I am not shocked. I expected this. Though the absence of the usual windsurfers, families with small children, bathing beauties, and other dog owners with their happily frolicing pets causes a heaviness to settle on my soul. Still I walk on, for I think I see someone I know: a rather fragile male figure stands between the seawall and the marsh. In his hands a camera is made heavy and unweildy by a large telephoto lens. Beneath the hat that shades his face from the glaring sun, I perceive a smile. He has seen me, too. As we draw close, he acknowledges my delighted tail-wagging companions before speaking.  “I was just taking pictures of these morning glories.” His eyes are bright and his smile has grown wider. I look from him to the lavender-blue faces of his subjects.  The flowers look back at me, nodding gently amidst the cool green grasses of the marsh. I can feel the steady breeze that seems made to refresh the souls of all who would receive.  Suddenly I am a child again. The wide-open gaze of the  flower and of the man are all I know. And it is enough – this moment. It is all there is.

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