Going Inkless

This morning the sky was an upside-down ocean, hung with rolls and waves of foamy cloud, spitting drops of spray infrequently on my windshield. Though the surface of it was layered in dull shades of slate and blue, something glowed beneath the waves. At the stop sign, I held my breath, eyes on the waves above my world. It was the kind of sea that tempts you against your better judgement to take out the little rowboat and see where the storm might blow you. But in the end, I chose to go to work instead.

I woke up this morning with a song running through my head... barefoot and smiling... They have a tendency to do that. It was an old Dylan tune, but it could as easily have been something new this year or something centuries old. It might have been nearly any style and as likely to have lyrics as not. There's a wide range of songs that bubble up in my head unexpectedly, but each one is clear and singular when it makes its appearance, the star performer on its stage. I feel it in my ears just as if it were playing in the physical world rather than only in my mind, and my whole being resonates with its notes. What a wonderful way to wake up, swept along on a current of song. Music has a way of seeping in and possessing me. I may not remember the title or artist. I may not remember the words, but for the moment I'm listening, I'm entirely there, submerged in it, listening with more than ears. The connection to the song remains long after, ready to well up like a natura...

My Grandmother's house was near a lake. In the early years of my childhood, we would swim when we visited, and when I was about nine years old, we moved in with Grandma. So, huge portions of each summer were spent in that lake, splashing and gliding. My sisters and I knew every inch of the lake bed that stretched out in front of the house, knew where it might dip suddenly, where you were likely to cut your foot on a clam shell, or where you could dig up the dark grey clay hiding just beneath the sand. Rain or cold wouldn't stop us from swimming, and when Mom said it was time to get out of the water, it was always too early- no matter how pruny our fingers or how terribly our teeth chattered. The deep green scent and gentle lapping of the waves were a constant presence in my life and continue to invigorate my dreams. To this day, the proximity of a large body of water is like spending time with an old friend, a quiet happiness and comfort that needs no words. I never learned to ...