the whoosh of stillness that comes

the whoosh of stillness
that comes with
sitting on the wooden stool
after getting home from singing
in the drizzling rain, planting garlic, harvesting the last of the cabbages,
pulling out dandelion, mulching the beds, among the other things, with all those good people that came out to
be with me in the

garden

the slight movement of ribcage
(mine)
soft sounds of car tires on wet pavement
and then the clanking of someone putting away dishes downstairs,
remembering that mine are still dirty in the sink
but not giving into the urge to call out
i’ll do those!
and instead just sitting there
noticing the movement of air
with a particular
heaviness
of settling into my skin, holding the vibrations of all of the talking singing event-organizing more talking hugging laughing more singing more event-organizing that i did in the
morning

as dandelion

my breath is fogging up the glass on the window in front of my face as i’m looking out at the rain especially concentrating
on the puddles and the way the water gushes down the pavement always finding the lowest
and most porous places to go.

carving a pumpkin, for the first time in a long time, (years? have i ever even carved
a pumpkin?) at s’s dining room table that is covered in a plastic tarp, i am enjoying how the knife peels away the pumpkin skin. everyone’s taking turns with the big knives and small knives and the slotted spoon that’s good for scooping out the guts, and we occasionally turn off the lights and stick flashlights inside them to test out how they will look, and when we all sit down to eat dinner, (enchiladas), s asks everyone (all of the pumpkin carvers) if we could go around and say something that was scary this past year, that we did
anyway.

k paints my face with whiskers and a feline nose behind our farmers market stand (because i am dressing up as dandelion) and i put a
homemade mane on my head that i cut out of fleece in the morning, and a
name tag that reads DAN which i place over my brown on brown on orange sweaters, also there are a few dandelion flowers i found in the morning which i pin in the button hole (october 31st and there are still dandelion flowers?)

i am laughing with k because suddenly my face becomes her art project and she turns very serious about the face painting, but then after she finishes i promptly forget i have paint on my nose and scratch an itch, (but it is okay).

then i walk around the market and go through the process of explaining, to (almost) everyone, that i am not just any kind of lion, I am…

as a parting cheer

the three things I learn about elms over the weekend:

that the leaves are rough,
exfoliant , k rubs one on her arm,

that the base of each leaf is asymmetrical,
t puts her hands side by side with all of her fingers lined up and then shifts them slightly away from each other to demonstrate for me

what about the bark?
and that the bark
is squishy.

3 for 3! j says as a parting cheer as we go our separate ways, walking barefoot on the sidewalk back to our respective houses, sneakers and socks in hands, hair still dripping with river water,

referring

to the running ((around the block, past the young tulip poplar(newly pointed out to me with its signature-ly shaped leaves), and the autumn olive, (snacked on a few berries yesterday)crossing three streets, and all along the community garden)),
and the jumping (our sweaty bodies into the river) that we have done consistently every morning of this
long holiday weekend,
the holiday that has been/is being
redefined as indigenous peoples day, catching on in this (smallish) city, as it says on the door of the library,

forbes will be closed Monday for indigenous peoples day

the parting cheer is especially for the
swimming in warm and rainy october, and
for celebrating that up until this point in (my) history i’ve firmly believed that i didn’t like running simply for the sake of running, and
i’m not sure if the habit will last but for the moment it doesn’t matter because my cold river running warm raindrop body feels happy and
alive.

 

 

 

clunks gently

when there is a sudden downpour as i’m riding back from town
and i pass a man who is also riding
his bicycle, who gives me a thumbs up through the rain and calls out to me,
we’ve got two hurricanes headed our way

when the rain clears and the sky lights up orange and lavender and i shake off some of the dripping, and stop by c’s new house for a moment to check
in on the painting progress and give him a hug with my helmet on so it clunks
gently into his chin

 

identifying where it came from

identifying the pain in my right leg as
a bruised adductor muscle, (or strained or pulled) but not identifying where it came from, (the pain) only aware of the aching that this morning
extends all the way to my ankle.

walking,(limping) with s to the store and when we’re about half-way there is an explosion of thunder and the rain plummets down. is this okay? she asks and we both just smile, shrug our shoulders, and keep walking, occasionally singing my favorite new song that i learned over the weekend.

after most of the storm has passed, we are on our way home splashing through puddles in sandals for the first time this season, feeling the warm puddle water on our feet and the cool rain still dropping on our heads.