Yesterday I walked on a trail that was scattered with yellow Aspen leaves, as if the path was paved with gold coins. It was a gorgeous clear, cool day, and after a couple of days of chilly rain plenty of folks were on this trail, enjoying the October beauty of these high mountains — young men with their fishing poles, women on dirt bikes, families stretching their legs. I had to stop and read the sign that said there were moose in the area and to please keep your dogs on leashes; moose get upset at dogs for they smell an awful lot like wolves. Moose are not fond of wolves. And a moose can easily stomp on a human, or smoosh a dog. Would be unpleasant.
It was so soothing, walking along the lake, hearing the chickadees in the pines and the distant calls of bugling elk bucks. I seem to be going through another phase of letting go and grieving, and am allowing the sadness to wash through. I am not always sure the cause of the feelings, and mostly it’s best not to think about it too much. To let them just be, and eventually they move on. Unless they stick to me like burrs; in that case I’m doomed and might need a padded room, something I occasionally wonder about. But intense loss can make a person feel like they are losing their minds. And I did move here, after all, to create space to heal. And I am healing. I’m more whole. Grief can, if painfully, strip away a lot of dead wood.
There’s a wonderful Billie Holliday song, “Good Morning Heartache.” The [partial] last stanza is so apt:
Good morning heartache
You’re the one
Who knows me well
Might as well get used to you
Hanging around
Good morning heartache
Sit down
I love that she invites grief to have a cup of coffee with her. No resistance there, and boy do I want to resist. I want the sadness to go to the next house down the street, please. But it’s here, and it’s best to make friends with it. Wanting it to leave prolongs the discomfort.
So I let the Rocky Mountains hold me. I’ll go sit on the big boulder below my balcony and talk to Buster who is buried next to it (won’t be long before it will be covered with snow!). I miss him (and my rascally rabbit is doing great; he now has dominion over the entire extra bedroom and so far he hasn’t chewed up everything in sight, though he has nipped at my toes when I get in the way of his zoomies and I learned that when a bunny does that, if you let out a loud shriek or scream, it startles them enough to deter the behavior and so far it’s working). We may have a few more sunny days with temps in the 60s, and if so I’ll grab my camping chair and go up into the park and sit by the river and read. It’s been six months+ since I moved here and few days go by where I am not gob-smacked by the beauty here, and the wildlife. A tree full of Yellow-Rumped Warblers just graced me with their presence outside the window, cheering me with their cuteness and their little yellow-green chins.
And I hear there’s a good ice cream place by the lake. I will check it out. And I will just be. And practice self-compassion. And permit myself to heal, rest and write. I allow myself, god forbid, to let go of being “productive,” whatever “productive” means. Oh! And I just sold a small watercolor in the gift shop. Bonus.
[Had fun painting yesterday; did several small abstracts. Another way to self-soothe. And since Cadbury, my pet rabbit, now has the run of the room, he jumped up on the work table to say hello, bumping the water container, making me laugh and making a puddle in the painting, which dried nicely and added texture. He’s an adorable, mischievous, curious little guy. So soft. Loves having his nose scratched. I think rabbits’ noses twitch even when they are asleep.]
7″ x 7″ watercolor, ink, collage, acrylic on paper. = $75
