Sons and Daughters

This morning after sending the children off to school and Kindergarten, I walked outside to go buy some bread and milk at the market. It was still a bit dark and foggy, and I felt like I had a cheesecloth draped over my face as I watched my steps on the sidewalk. The stones from our carport to the Volksbank lot are patchy shades of red and grey, where old crumbled stones have been replaced by newer bricks. I make sure to step only on the reddest of bricks, as my own personal attempt to preserve the older weathered stones. They might not actually be older... now that I think of it. It is entirely possible that some fool built the path with stones of a weak quality, quickly realized that red bricks are sturdier and changed course. But anyway, it is a game that I play, and I like to pretend I am preserving history or something quietly significant. So I was walking down our street and heard what I assumed was a flock of geese overhead. But the honking had a sharper quality to it, and I had to squint to look up into the smoky light of an amber winter morning. Drifting in and out of the fog were twelve to fifteen swans. Something about this image literally (with the full risk of sounding cheesy) took my breath away. I stood in a stupefied trance in the middle of the street, and watched the sky long after they floated back into the clouds again. I could still hear their music for almost an entire minute after I lost sight. Maybe this doesn´t seem at all interesting to anyone else, but I have never seen a flock of swans before. I wasn´t even aware that they were common to this area of Germany. But their elegant white necks and long black beaks were instantly recognizable, even from far below. Maybe on another morning, or at a different place or time I would not have been moved by this scene. But for some reason this morning I kept reliving the moment, and felt strange for the next few hours. Sure, a part of me felt a certain amount of peace, but that wasn´t all of it. I wish I could pin-point something here. This will sound ridiculous and trite, but it was a similar feeling to certain parts of Inman´s journey in the book Cold Mountain, or the Machu Picchu scene from The Motorcycle Diaries. A scene that made me feel cold and warm at the same time, and nostalgic for something of which I really have no memory. A bit isolated, but at peace with the comforting reminders of life and nature in my surroundings. My environment here is strange and new, but I must find ways to stay inside of myself and keep watching for those small things that will move me, as they used to. If I can ever understand why they move me, perhaps there is hope that I´ll figure out some of the essence of who I am, and on which soils I should stand.

Here´s to a starry-eyed ramble wishing to be worthy of a soaring swan!

Prost.


Also, I shamelessly borrowed these images from flickr users... for anyone who regulates these things. I´m not sure if they have copyrights.