This is the end of September.
Another year, another decade, another bottle of the smells of summer, dreams of winter and the ‘sandwich’ of autumn in-between.
Sometimes, it’s just a walk in the Wilderness of the Moment, a Lost Morning – a 2-hour holiday in a Nameless Neighborhood, where all is predictable and nothing stays the same.
I have a camera and an eye, and a thirst for the Light Of The Moment. The Longing of Now. The expression of the Amazement of the Beauty of Life, the one that escapes us because we’re moving too fast, going nowhere, around in circles, occupied by the mundane items on our day’s shopping spree.
So, even in this Same Old Neighborhood, named after a Queen long-dead, the light dances and plays and changes over the simple life-span of a Coffee. The flowers that were lit are now deposed. And circumstance has painted a nondescript veranda with the signature of Picasso.
So it goes.
And, of course, the Flowers speak their own language – this we know. They show us things we would rather not see, but we are suckers for Beauty and we grab the rose, thorns and all. The flowers tell us of beauty, but they also speak of the Change Of Seasons. In a day, petals worn and freckled. In 2 days, petals kiss the grass. In 3 days, the Clippers come and the Flowers are memories. Frail, but Significant. Beauty In The Moment, if it’s heard in its True Language, will also remind us of Mortality. And mortality has its own Beauty … not the Language of Cosmetic Appeal.
Besides Mortality: Change. The inevitable. If I do not take this photo right now, this photo that is screaming at me and staring me in the face and telling me all the sadness and wonder of Infinity – if I do not take this photo right now, in two minutes the light will change and the photo is gone. This is “grabbing the moment” – this is “plucking the cubic centimeter of chance” – while it is right here, dancing before my eyes, Firefly of Infinite Pleasure, Butterfly of Only the Moment.
… and then it is Gone. As certain as it Came, it goes. And my steps move on. Through Incredible Blue Skies and Hot Ephemeral Sun of September: neighborhoods are now quiet, kids in school, vacation over. Quiet Streets, many shades of green. Fall has not quite struck; we’re in Late Middle Age. Still Productive, but Reflective. The Journey is Afoot, no turning back.
A lonely white cat in a yard of Green. White Cats have appeared to me here and there in my life. They seem to be Silent Messengers, harbingers of sorts. A metaphor for the Silent Companion that accompanies us all through life, whether we acknowledge or not. Patient. Knowing. Trusting. Persevering. Partly in Shadow, partly Luminous. Revealing, Concealing, Suggesting, Hinting.
So, the Cat and I witness the waning of September’s Sun. Thankful for this moment where we can Play, Pray, Stay, Stray. Thankful for Mystery, scantily clad in the clothing of the Mundane. Denizens of this Neighborhood, but also, members of another Lost Jungle, descendents of a Different Creed. We linger for two and a half minutes, six photos, and a breath of fresh air.
Then she disappears. Under a neighbor’s porch. Who owns her, and what does she care? We’re both slaves of the moment, and property of the Great Librarian of Time. By chance we met on this Side-street of September, and we’ve already forgotten each others’ names. Such is City Love, such is Changing Light.
We notice Picasso’s Porch as we wind up another Morning of Mystery. Wind-Chimes, Bicycles and Flowers. This is all one needs in Life, the Major ingredients. The Song, the Journey and the Color. Vehicle, Voice and Nature’s blessing. The Trinity of September’s Virtue. All a chance discovery, all a significant letter from the Beloved, to me, personally.