Laundry Day

I wrote myself an agenda of what needed done today: go to the bank, go to the AT&T store, go to the laundromat, dust my bedroom ('please/finally,' I had written), write a cover letter for a job. Guess how many of them got done. I went to the bank, but it was closed, and they got a new ATM that I couldn't figure out how to deposit in. I went to the AT&T store to ask about my lack of service at my apartment, and they just asked me to call customer service. As I was supposed to be driving to the laundromat, I changed my mind. I could see sky; I wasn't going to let that go to waste.

When I arrived at Discovery Park, the East Lot was full, so I went to the North Lot. I parked and pulled some warmer attire out of my laundry bag. I grabbed a map and started off, my muscles still sore from Thursday's football game, but it felt good to be moving and breathing the sharp air. 

I started at the Daybreak Star Indian Cultural Center. I walked around the building to this patio viewpoint of the Sound. Large bodies of water comfort me, and the clear sky felt like summer.

After twenty minutes of walking along a paved road, I found myself back in the parking lot and quite confused. The map is ridiculous to understand, yet I laughed at my mistake. What a goof. Soon enough, I found my trail entrance. 

Signs indicated that there would be water, including three "reflection" ponds. 

Small bridges led the way over the bog. I was surprised to find stairs too.

I am in love with the way that light teases the plants that live deeper in the woods.

And moss; I love moss.

Reflections are actually quite baffling. When the signs said "reflection" ponds, I immediately thought of Annie Dillard. I imagined myself going there to explore and mentally reflecting on my surroundings. Instead, I was amazed to find the world reflecting back at me, an upside down array of trees so smooth that it could be the real thing; has gravity fooled me? The picnic table rests on its own Platonic form. 

First world problems: I want to be a pack-light hiker & a photographer; therefore, good photos of ducks get sacrificed when the fixed 50mm lens & 10-22mm are chosen over the 55-200mm.

The biggest leaf I have ever seen. I thought these trees made me feel big because the Redwoods made me feel so small, so normal sized trees aren't so intimidating. Then I ran into this leaf. And as the light reveals, it's with-leaf-child. That or it's a cannibal leaf and ate a fellow leaf for lunch. 

And just like that, the light got stronger, trying to hold on to day as the dark sank into the soggy grasses.  It was only 3:45.

And South Beach pulled me: I cannot resist the sound of waves. I sat on a driftwood log and read selections from Poems for a Small Planet: Contemporary American Nature Poetry out loud to passersby. I'll share two that stood out to me today.

This is a Blessing, This is a Curse

No sound from the stone,

which is to say

that I am deaf at last.

I have prayed for this and then

regretted praying.

No voice from the depths

to rise like fish and leap

for my ear.

This is a blessing for my soul

that would not presume.

This is a curse for my heart

that needs to hear.

-Chard DeNiord

Painting It In

     (Remembering Lesley Parry)

Wake up at six o'clock. We're out to sea.

Nothing beyond that fence and slatted gate

but a grey wave and plume-like shapes that could be

flaws in the canvas or unmixed pigment in paint.

Stones, blurred poppies, a wheelbarrow full of grass

affirm a foreground. The world must exist out there.

People must be getting up and getting washed,

putting the kettle on, picking up a newspaper.

Somewhere it must matter terribly not to be late,

not to miss the limousine to the airport,

not to be missed when the finance committee votes,

when the training course commences, not be left out.

But somewhere is hard to believe when it's not invented, 

when the world blindly refused to admit detail.

All that's required is pastoral: sheep among stunted

rowans; for background, eroded 'Moelfre' or 'bald hill.'

The thing's been done so many times. Imagine

brushing the lichen's pearly quartz over the rocks,

now the shocking pink foxgloves, painting them in,

old fashioned belles de joie, drunk on their stalks.

What if today decides never to take off its veil,

never to palliate art with a grand show

of perspectives up the valley? More likely all we'll

get is light's first lesson, an application of gesso,

a whiteout of air--sweet, soft, indestructible,

the cloud of unknowing reluctant to create the known.

Hills, stones, sheep, trees are, as yet, impossible.

And when things are unmade, being also feels less alone.

-Anne Stevenson

When my eyes focused as I looked up, I realized that it was getting a little too dark, such that if I tarried any longer, it would be uncomfortably lacking light as I attempted to follow the confusing paths back to my car. As I started walking, a light rain began. I decided to put away my camera and put on my raincoat, just in case it started to get heavy. I sat my bookbag on the ground and bent over, putting away my lens and camera, and as I did I heard a clunk! 

I didn't think much of it; my phone had been in my pocket and had fallen many times, and as advertised, my iPhone has put up with a lot (I once accidentally threw it across a parking lot because I lost my grip while I was swinging my arms; it survived with only a barely noticeable scratch). I was just very glad that my camera was safely packed away. As I went to pick up the phone, I realized that the entire front was shattered. 

Somehow, it still works. The cracks are getting whiter and wider as the pressure of my tapping fingers tests the glass's durability in its fragile state. A small piece of glass stuck in my thumb as I sent a text message to my sister. I actually find it hilarious. It's a sign; it's absolutely a sign--I've been talking for months about how terrible my reliance on my iPhone is. Apparently, it doesn't like me either. The ironic part is that today, I went to the AT&T store to figure out how to improve service at my apartment. The woman called me this evening to do a "troubleshooting." Whether it failed because it's just impossible to get service here or because my phone is now a glass mosiac, I'm not sure, but the call still would not connect when she attempted to call afterwards. She left me one partial message that didn't get past hello and one long, irritated message that said "as I said in my previous message...". Listen, I'm not ignoring your call; I just cannot connect. 

As one of my favorite Weepies tunes goes, "I want to live a simple life." Maybe I'm closer to that; I spent the day in the woods and the waters' edge reading poetry and the one piece of technology that I so despise took a tumble. Coincidence? I think not. 

Needless to say, my bag of laundry still sits in my car and that job application is merely a thought. Maybe tomorrow.