I don’t exactly toil away at writing, as I keep a log of my move to Colorado, but sometimes I bore myself and start over. And over. But just now a Broad-tail Hummingbird paused outside my window, where I’m perched with my laptop a few feet away, seemingly peering in and looking at me. The feeder is close, and the riot of brawling hummers beefing up for migration makes me laugh, often. So fierce! Especially the Rufous hummers who, like tiny, coppery speed-ball warriors, chase off other visitors to the feeder (even bees).
But a hummer has never come to the window and looked in and said hello. She floated out there for a good couple of seconds.
I’m meant to be here. I’m supported. I can relax, I haven’t made a horrible, stupid mistake.
In fact, I can embrace my life here. Coax my neck muscles to soften a bit.
The bullhorn is my new visual image. I employ it to out-yell my dad’s critical voice that is in my head. He was a dyed-in the wool, old-school, abusive and contemptuous misogynist. Females had little value; males ruled the world and deserved respect. So I’m treating that brain-infection with booming, loud announcements of self-respect. It’s working. The beautiful, plentiful hummingbirds help. Beauty is replacing darkness and self-doubt.
The Rockies heal me, fortify me. This is a place of summer abundance — chirping Marmots, omnipresent Osprey scouting the lakes, adorable, furtive chipmunks, brilliant cerulean Mountain Bluebirds scooping bugs out of the air, even Snowshoe Hares, on a lucky day (they are amazing — brown now, with white paws, enormous snow-shoe back feet; their bodies know to start shedding brown fur and replacing it with white, for winter camouflage, when days start to get shorter and I freakin’ can’t wait to learn to ID tracks in the snow out my door).
No, I have no idea how winter will be for me. But I’m not worried as I will learn cross-country skiing and will borrow my friend Amy’s snowshoes to try out and maybe return to nearby slopes to do some downhill. This charming town has lots of winter activities too, and I may even try ice-skating on the lake, but I never learned how to stop at the ice rink other than grabbing the railing, so I’d best duct-tape bubblewrap to my already well-padded backside before that attempt. And there’s always that marvelous library with the stone fireplace.
I’m good.
8″ x 8″ ink, watercolor, pencil, acrylic, oil pastel on paper = $95
