Karnak, Egypt
In and Out of Shadows
Hazy, softness, warmth, colors, drifting
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Sounds of birds flitting through the trees. Leaves move gently in the light wind. A stick insect moves deliberately toward its prey. The capture jar is in my hand and the lid, punctured with nail holes, is ready to screw on. In the jar, mixing with grass and leaves, the insect disappears.
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Predawn. The stars still brilliant in the moonless sky. No animal sounds as I ride my bicycle along the street delivering newspapers to homes where early risers are just brewing their coffee. In the corner of my eye I sense, rather than see, a streak of light above me and to my left. Stopping my bike I see a meteorite move silently across the sky. I shiver, not because I am cold, but because, for a moment, I feel afraid and alone. Minutes later the birds begin to make their morning sounds and the sky lightens in the east. What was only shadows becomes distinct. Dogs bark. I am once again surrounded by light and life.
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We lie in the tent. The thunder storm reminds us of our vulnerability. Yet, we are not frightened. We are energized by the wind and rain. Our closeness gives us warmth and strength. Lightening projects the shadows of tree limbs onto the walls and top of the tent. We soon become damp from the mist of rain forced through the tent fabric. We are part of the thunder and it is part of us. We talk quietly of our love and we drift into sleep.
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I am not in school today because I am ill. The sounds of the kids in the school yard just across the street let me know of the fun I am missing. The doctor comes with his black bag. He uses a thermometer that I bite too hard, again, and break in my mouth. There is no taste. He talks with Mom and leaves her some pills. Mom washes me with cold water. I have a wet wash cloth on my forehead. Time passes in strange ways. I see a comic book even though my eyes are closed. It is in full color. I wonder if I can make the pages turn by themselves. Yes, I can do it! Then I slip back into the shadows of sleep.
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Not a sound. Even breathing is risky. The bush trail is just a few feet away. The insects and birds had just started singing after getting used to me and accepting my presence. Now they have stopped again. At first I sense, rather than see, movement along the trail. They are silent and they are there. I will myself to blend in, to become part of the light and shadows of the bush. I feel immensely present in the moment, yet not present at all. It is all too real. Leaves and sticks make small sounds underfoot. The shadows move on and are gone. I become aware again of the insects crawling across my hand and over my lips. I ease carefully back from the trail, moving back to the safety of shadows.
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We are alone in the park on a hill and under some bushes just off the trail. She has loosened my belt and my hand is on her breast. Just two dumb teenagers trying to find some privacy to explore what we know our parents wouldn't approve of. Maybe that was why it feels so exciting and fun. She had brought a small blanket in her backpack for our "picnic." I hadn't planned ahead very well. No matter: it was over all too soon. We walked to her house and talked until midnight on the swing on her porch.
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I feel so content here rocking my child in the living room while my exhausted wife sleeps in our bed. Our baby has had a miserable day and night. The fever has been so high that we used cold baths and as much children's aspirin as was safe to try to get it down. My child is finally asleep against my left shoulder and the fever seems to have broken. Just in time. I had no more energy for lullabies. I risk putting him to bed, but stay next to him nodding in a chair. Through the window I see lightness beginning in the sky.
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My wife, the woman I have loved all my life, sits next to my bed. We talk of the good things and the bad. She holds my hand and tells me how much she has missed me. I drift off again. Someone washes my forehead with a damp cloth. It must be my mom. I feel peaceful. People drift in and out of my awareness. "Here, Pop, take some of this ice water. You need to take your pills." I don't want to be bothered. There is so much to remember here inside before I go. I want to drift away into the hazy softness of the shadows.
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Jim Morgan, August 11, 2010
Japanese Garden, Portland, Oregon