This is a journey from back in August. Shel is one of my writing peeps.
It takes some
time. More than usual. I am out of practice, out of breath, too much
about breath.
Shel meets
me. We are climbing up a granite face
using ancient hand and foot holds carved into the vertical face. I lean into the mountain. Cool stone beneath my cheek. Breathing.
Shel urges me on. I am not
afraid. As we approach the summit, a
curving set of narrow stairs winds around the peak. At the summit, we stand hand-in-hand.
“So. What’s up?” I ask.
Shel says
nothing.
“What am I
supposed to see?”
Nothing.
“Why did you
drag me up here?”
“Is it not
enough that it’s beautiful?”
He’s
right. It is beautiful. Rolling emerald hills unfurl below us
alternately lit and shadowed as the sun ducks behind scudding clouds. Still I am restless, fidgety.
Shel
sighs. “We are here to call back the
pieces you have lost.”
Now it’s my
turn to sigh. Finally, I think.
“Where do
you think they might be?” he asks.
“At work,” I
answer.
He nods,
reaches out as a barn owl swoops in and lands on his hand. He turns and presses the owl into my
chest. There is discomfort as though
wings flapped about in the cage of my ribs, but this feeling settles as things shift
inside me to make room.
“Where
else?”
“My mom.”
He gestures
again and a pelican glides in to his hand and then into my chest. I name other people, other events other places
where I have lost myself, let my energy go.
One by one the pieces wing back to me in bird form. At some point Shel stops receiving them. Instead they fly directly into my chest, into
my heart. Each one lands and rocks me
back on my heels, threatens to tumble me off the mountain.
I am not
frightened. Shel is always there to
catch me if I fall.
After the
last arrives, I turn toward Shel and ask, “Where are they? I know there are more.”
“That is
enough for today,” he states.
We stand
hand-in-hand once more. He’s right. It is beautiful. And it is enough.
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