They say scent is the strongest sense tied to memory, and while I believe that to be true, I think all my senses were alight with my homecoming. The view from where I sit is serene. I'm on my porch swing, lazily moving back and forth, wind blowing gently through my hair. My beautiful cat, who looks more like a cheetah in stature than a domestic cat, sleek grey, incredibly thin and long with bright green eyes, sits beside me. Well, I shouldn't say 'sits' when the little pest is continually trying to walk all over my keyboard and smack his paw lightly on the bright light of the screen. I've got him in a gentle chokehold as I try and keep his wiley self away from my typing. He's so soft and is purring incessantly. The breeze is gentle, but it almost chills me. I am not used to this weather, at a windy 75 degrees, overcast skies, I feel very much far from my new usual. I mean this in the most sincere of ways when I say, this is the most perfect weather in the whole world, and I would never trade it for the awful heat of my summer. I've always considered that I loved heat more than cool...and I suppose that is still true...but this- This is perfection. If I could bottle the atmosphere here, bottle the wind and bottle the skies...I would send it down south and I'm sure everyone would be convinced of the perfect happiness I feel in this moment. Other wonderful things adding to my happiness are the view, the smells, and the sounds. Have I mentioned that I'm run on emotions, and I feel things with a strength indescribable?
Here's what I see before me. Hills. So many hills, rolling fields of hay, woods with trees in all shades of green ranging from pale lime to a deep forest. The shade of the cumulonimbus clouds seems to add a depth to the green, but where the sun is peeking out, shining on my barn, the field takes on a yellowed hue. There is so much land in all directions. An efervescent glow springs forth from the earth and calls to me to run free in its wildness. Inside that barn at the bottom of this hill are the most beautiful scents. The morning of my first day back, I lept from my bed and slipped on my boots. I ran with childish flailing through long grasses that cut my legs, threw myself on the soft ground, sifted my fingers through the dark, soft, wet soil. Ah the soil!!! I spread my arms wide and looked up at the big grey skey. I laughed and smiled in spite of myself. When I got into the barn, though, I felt most truly at home. They must be right about that sent-memory thing. Whoever they are. The hay, the sweet scent of hay, filled my nostrils and seemed to carry itself through my whole body to the point that I shivered in delight. The dust, the tractor grease, the burlap sacks and twine. It was all so poignant, and it was all so...mine. These scents had raised me. All that I am and all that I have grown to be are some product of scents such as these. I spun in circles amid them. I grabbed horse treats and skipped to the pasture gate. I climbed eagerly over its silver surface and jumped to the ground. I ran with wild laughter to my horses, and threw my arms around the neck of my sweet Devon. When I breathed in and smelled the special scent that he alone has (animals are just like humans in that way!), I began to cry. The tears just flowed, mixing with laughter, and I hugged and hugged him. He rubbed his face all over me, lips flapping giving me wet kisses as he searched for the treats he knew I possessed. I looked him over thoroughly, checking for any differences, injuries, anything. But he looked great. And Artex did, too. The strict diet I set them on has been implemented wonderfully, as they are both at a good body condition for their age. Their manes were groomed, their eyes were bright, their hooves were newly trimmed. My dad did a great job caring for them this summer, and I am so thankful! It always pains me so strongly to leave my darlings for a spell, but it makes it so much better when I know they are in good hands.
All of this horse talk is getting me kind of desperate to run back down to the barn...which may not be the best of ideas considering the condition my muscles are in from riding the past few days. They were not used to such working!
Another part of my body that aches sorely is my finger tips. It's unbelieveable to me how long I had truly been gone. I've always been a traveler, and I've been away to school, but I can't say I've ever NOT seen my home for more than about a month or two at a time. But I've been so far from what I've known, and so last night I sat down on my porch, relishing in the stars that I could see (finally!!!), and played my guitar for hours on end. It was wonderfully lovely, and I'm happy to have found that I did not lose all my talents these past three months...but I tell you what, my fingers are feeling it today! Not to mention that I played piano just after that for a long spell...so they've just gotten their work-outs for the week.
One thing I haven't gotten to do much of yet that I am eagerly awaiting is painting! Ah, to get a brush to a blank canvas, to spread color where there is none, and make bright what is lacking...that is my calling. I relish in creating. Surely creations from these same fingertips will follow soon.
There are beautiful sounds surrounding me now, as well. The crickets are constant, a songbird occassionally chirps, and behind me I hear horses neighing. No, these are not my horses, who are in front of me. These are the horses at the fairgrounds, whose property backs up to ours. At the back of the fairgrounds is the arena for horse events. They must be having a show today, as I can hear the announcer calling out names, and I can hear the horses calling out theirs in languages we cannot decipher. I hear the leaves rustle from the wind. I feel these sounds within me.
Surely very few people find this to be interesting. I have merely sat and described to you my home. But I will say this. I may not end up here permanently. I may be gone for times much longer than 3 months one day...but I will take this beauty, this perfection, in my heart always. No matter where I go, I will have the wind and sky to remind me of how excellent they can be. The mountains may elude my eyes, but they will never elude my emotions. They will rise within me, being built up wherever there are none, coloring the canvas of my mind in the same way my paintbrush does. I love it here. I am pensive, at peace, I am home.
I wrote a poem about my summer and how I feel about it now. It's called "Like wine."
Good stories are like wine, I think
They have a certain flavor
They start out sour and awful
And are something not to savor
They tend to hurt upon your heart,
Bring tight sting to your throat;
They rip your soft, weak lungs apart
with cries that can't be wrote
But time will let them ferment so,
They'll grow so fine and sweet
That from your eyes tears will not flow
But upon lips a smile will greet
Now their full scent is not fully known
until you swirl the glass
Toss those notions to and fro
Or the layers of senses will pass
And do not drink from newly made wine
or you will surely regret it
Learn this lesson- learning takes time
And a story is just not as good
right after you've left it.
No comments:
Post a Comment