Stories of Life

We are on our way. Drifting back to home in Goa. Drifting...

I've been feeling for a while that I need more of a theme here. I've written many posts over the years, about many different things, and sometimes when I think- hey, I should write a post- I come up with too many bits of lint from my pockets. There are coins and a couple of stones and those lint balls and even a raisin or two and I'm never sure what to throw at you.

Themes help my mind to be a peaceful, quiet place.

During the last week I've been thinking about what kind of theme I could put in place here at my blog, and I'm happy with what has surfaced.

Did you know that the year started at the endish of September? Me neither, but I'm starting the year now. This year my theme will be Stories of Life.

I like to tell stories. I like to find stories. So I will tell stories of things or people I see or meet, stories of my family, stories of me. Story is a good theme. It quiets my mind but it is wide enough for movement in any direction.

A story may be a photograph and a line of description, or a long, drawn out tale of a day or week. These stories will be real, they will be non-fiction. They will be things I think are worth noticing, telling. Things I don't want to forget.

Like this:

If I were to say "moonlight," you would get the wrong impression entirely. Moonlight doesn't begin to describe what it was.

I lay in the bed, beside the five foot high window, and watched clouds illuminated by white light, drifting dreamily toward the horizon. Each one was ephemeral when it passed under the moon; made of many colors, including, surprisingly, green, purple, orange, black. When the cloud went beyond the moon it became full again, white in my head but in reality a lilac color only slightly more brilliant than the purple sky. The clouds moved swiftly when they passed the moon but piled up slowly afterward, drifting into the distance in a stunned way.

The hills and trees beneath were cut of the thickest blackness. Everything was so, so still, except for those racing clouds. I couldn't hear anything of the outside; I was lying with my hand under my head on the inside of the window, my sleeping husband beside me. It was quiet. I was holding my breath for the longest time, I was trying to keep from spoiling a single moment.

What I said to myself was, This is the most beautiful thing I will ever see. I have to hold it all in, all of it right now.