And by that, I mean an artist. One who hears stories in the wind, who paints because it is what her soul tells her to do, who smiths because the muse moves through her fingertips, who loves nothing more than the promise of an unexplored trail, the sound of the ocean in her ears, and scent of a serious cup of coffee.
*** (this photo is here for a reason, promise - see below) ***
Confession Number 754: I am a terrible lookie-loo. I don't mean to be, but I see such amazing sights and want to really SEE them and I sorta forget everything I'm doing in order to give said sight my full attention. Here's what I'm talking about:
Last weekend as we drove home on All Hallow's Eve I nearly caused my husband to crash our car three times. Each time it went something like this:
Talking talking, mid-sentence...
Silence and WHIP CRACK my head around to look at something outside the window
[BC breaks hard to ensure we're not about to be run down by the ghost train]
"What? What?"
"No, it's okay" I say, "it was just a huge Elk cow standing right over there. I just wanted to look at her. Keep driving, it's cool."
OR
"No, no, I'm sorry, I did it again, didn't I? There was just a buck on the shoulder and he hardly flinched as we drove past. He was beautiful, but yeah, no, keep going, everything is okay."
OR
"Oh! I thought I saw a bobcat! But it's gone now, don't worry about it."
It makes him a little crazy when I do this, but I really can't help myself. Plus my eyesight is better so I figure I should look double and then I can tell him about it. Plus I'm an artist so I tell myself that it's Important and Necessary for me to look at anything that could possible one day inspire me (like today). So maybe this isn't so much a confession today as it is a justification. Yeah. That's right.
*** Thank God I now live in a town with a population of only 3000! I was innocently driving my car along when the neon moose yelled at me (You! Take my picture! Now!) so I obediently rolled my car to a quick stop in the very middle of the road, rolled down the window, hung out from the torso up and took a whole series of neon and fog. Hallelujah, praise be, I was not run down by any angry hipsters in hybrids! ***
Can I photographically gush for a bit on how enamored I am with my little town?
I am the girl who, two weeks into a relationship, decides she has fallen in love. I'm a fool for the turning tide of Autumn, the marriage of cold air and rosy cheeks, the sweep of fog across the valley and the break of sunlight dancing on dew. I walk outside and fill my lungs with the scent of our affair. I fill my hands with the colors of fire and twirl my fingertips along trails of moss. I'm a hopeless romantic when it comes to these things and they know it.
We packed up and moved out on Saturday, in the intermittent rain storms that thundered across the Seattle skies. Hauling boxes between rain drops, heaving furniture through historically tiny doorways, BC and I were soaked through by the time we finished emptying the truck around midnight. We were ravenously hungry, the house was a mad tangle of belongings and cardboard, the kitty boys were throughly traumatized and sleep was still a ways off. And I, well, I was so excited and optimistic it was rather ridiculous. I'm taking that as a sign that this is where we're supposed to be at the time we're supposed to be here. It just feels right. I feel right.
I'm also crushing hard on my new little town.
Monday night I went for my first run. Out the back door, through the back yard, up on the levy, down to the main trail, back into town and along the base of Mt. Si. I was breathing easy, long slow gulps of crisp pine-scented air, marveling at the shocking fall foliage (Vermillion! Crimson! Saffron! Persimmon!), listening to the dull thud of my trainers on packed dirt when I saw her. She was glossy and fat on her spindly legs, huge ears flicking towards me, great deep eyes watching carefully.
Friends,
I was running with the deer.
I cannot even begin to tell you all the reasons this feels right.
