I’m drinking tea, at a cafe in the city, warm chai tea with chocolate, until I’m warm again, after sitting in the park, in the white sun and cold. But there were flowers, white ones, blue ones, and a great seagull on top of a black statue, pigeons looking for treasures beneath my bench.
I tried to find words there, but they eluded me and still don’t want to come, only glimpses here and there, traces of something. I wonder what I can do to make them come, but when I ask all I get is love and trust, so I try to listen and drink my chai, look out the window. I search for beauty on the internet, words of others, pictures that touch me, rose and wind and pearls. And then back to my own words, which scare me, so I look away. It feels like I’m dancing around the edges of something, slowly circling closer to a place where I can write. It’s almost always like this.
A touch of magic
The other day I saw a squirrel, as I was sitting in the forest. It scurried up very close to me, this tiny red thing with a white belly, and I sat like a statue, afraid to move, to do anything that might scare her away. I’ve never seen one so close before, because they’re usually shy, hiding in their trees. Not like the ones in California, which were big and gray and everywhere.
The last place we stayed was in a beautiful, old victorian building. It wasn’t as fancy as it sounds, though, but I still loved it. It was a bit worn down, that grand old thing, a white building that just rocked slowly when there was an earthquake. We lived on the second floor, and I when I first saw it I prayed that we would get to rent it because it had a wide windowsill to sit in, the kind I’ve dreamed of since I was a child. One of those you could sleep on if you wanted to, and look at the stars, dream away.
The apartment also had a closed up fireplace, and I placed flowers on top of it, and sat on my windowsill, looking down through the branches of a large tree, down to the street below.
A squirrel lived there, among the leaves, and it talked a lot, seemed to have a lot to say, chattered at nothing in particular.
This tiny red one did the same, scurried up the tree behind me, and talked as it did, so I left, feeling perhaps I was upsetting it. Still, there was a bit of magic in the encounter.
What is the most magical creature you’ve met in the wild? Or would love to meet?