Every evening the clouds gather. I read in the newspaper today the question on people’s minds is, Is this the monsoons? No, the meterologists say, the monsoons don’t come until July. The weather is cooler, cooler than average. This is the fourth wettest May in Albuquerque since 1913, I read yesterday.
I’m living in the new house. It was such a drawn out move. I had time to mourn our little house, then get tired of it, then finally almost hate the sight of it. Now I walk out on the patio and see the Sandias. Before I moved to this place I couldn’t see the mountains for the trees. It’s louder where I live now. I hear the city, the sirens that make all the dogs in the vicinity howl. The trucks that shift into low gear as they climb the hill. I wonder what this place was like before any big boulevards were even there. I wonder if the original family moved when civilization encroached.
I should put links in this piece, but I know I won’t. What to link? I’m writing it almost like a practice anyway. I’m starved for writing. We don’t have internet connectivity yet at the new place, so I have to come to cafes to get connected. For the past four days, you can find me parked outside a cafe with my computer screen glowing pale green in my face. I must look ghoulish to anyone walking past the car. But most times I’ve wanted to connect, it’s been late. Bands playing in the cafes, lots of people. It’s quiet in my car, and besides, I’ll be back online Tuesday.
Right now the sky is pretty clear. I have a feeling it’s not going to rain tonight. I have a feeling the clouds won’t even gather as much as they have been. Maybe they’ve been called to a convention in Amarillo. Who knows. What do clouds do when they’re not hanging out around here?
The clouds are hanging out here, today, an overcast Memorial Day. “I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now, from up and down, and still somehow, it’s clouds illusions I recall. I really don’t know clouds at all.”
Congratulations on the new house — and I’m completely impressed that in the midst of your move, you have been connecting to the Red Ravine community in your car. I love that picture of you, though I don’t see it as ghoulish at all. More fanciful and full of wonder. Thanks for your devotion.
Here in the glow of the computer screen again, in the parking lot of Satellite…I really must stop meeting you like this
. It’s worth the effort. I appreciate your gratitude, Sharonimo.
To move is literal and metaphorical. You moved your house, and your insides moved too. You see the mountains now, but hear the traffic noise. The May is wet. Other places that should be wet are dry. Here the desert willows are filling out way too early.
Staying conncted to the community sometimes requires not being in touch temporarily, allowing for the insides to be discombobulated and discomforted, during the move.
To move and be moved.
Thanks for reminding me that this is so. I’ve been moved. Yes, that makes sense deep inside. You know, I just this moment realized. My stomach has been gurgling and out of sorts for the past two days. I thought maybe something I ate. No, my insides are moved, too.
I moved at the end of last year. Yes, insides definitely move. Lunalou is right – to move and be moved.