I remember better now.
For a long time, I remembered only hating nature, and then remembering hating nature. Lying in a disused field of strawflowers, brittle, brown, and grey. Staring at the sky, the clouds, the occasional plane.
I've remembered this poetically, picking up fragments like "some hidden insect chorus...that drones like the humming of fluorescent lights" and "the colors have been stained in iodine." I thought those words expressed my distaste for the isolation, the deafening quiet. I know better now.
Those are the words of love for a beauty that is denied: the beauty of nature concealed by lonliness, depression, listlessness, wanting to be someone else anywhere else.
And now that I am someone else somewhere else—
I remember the sadness and longing but also the wonder and beauty and stillness. The way my imagination wandered down the faint trails made in the long grasses by animals, the tactile richness of all those strawflowers, weeds, grasses, moss, and dirt. The marvellous diversity of insect life. The comfortable feeling of knowing where I was despite wanting to not be there, of knowing that even though I was alone, I was surrounded by others: my grandfather, in his garden or barn, my sisters playing somewhere else on the farm, my grandmother busy in her kitchen or napping in the living room, the neighbors in their respective places, the sky above, and the earth below, the woods surrounding it all.
I remember this, with gratitude, but not nostlgia. Knowing where my heart is anchored, I can be someone else anywhere else, secure in who I am, present to where I am, free to remember without getting lost.
Able to remember better.
Created: Feb 01, 2011sfdetroiter Document Media