a smattering of thought

I was thinking about my friend, Sheila, who died on the Friday after Thanksgiving. Josh, the guy that was doing the lion's share of the care giving, and some other friends have begun going through her belongings. Sheila had requested that I take whatever from her CD collection that I wanted, and she also designated some strange and wonderful things that she wanted me to have: a collection of masks, an ancient kimono, some dusty, smoky parasols that used to hang in her house.

I still have not cried. I am thinking that I might not. Our main topic of conversation from the time that she was diagnosed with cancer through our final conversation was death and the cast and hue of the world through the eyes of one who is ill, one who has been told that they are dying. In a sense, I have been crying since the first day that she told me.

I was offered a chance to speak at a memorial that they are holding for her. I declined, though an extemporaneous burst may still occur. Yet, I was reading from my own writings and realized that a verse that I had penned and which is posted on the Scented Shadows blog, is most appropriate.

The Day the Gingko Leaves Fell

I recall that brisk and bracing day:
Yellow golden fans edged in green
Whipping, swirling 'mid Sol's heatless ray
And drifting down to lay between
The stalks of grass with random pose
To make mosaics on the lawn
A single day the gods have chose
The gingko's cloak to mandate gone.
I remember, I think, that chilly day
The skirt shaped leaves upon me lay
As 'neath the branches I lightly sleep
And life's clear moments Time's burglar reaps;
He takes away, I seem to recall,
The fleeting scent of the leaves of Fall
And then the painting behind my eyes,
The light around and within dies.
I recall it, I swear, I know I remember
That bracing wind of late November.
The day the gingko leaves laid down
To rest like me...

©2004-2005 Stuart Dummit


....My friend from San Francisco is set to arrive on Friday. I got a message from him today that simply said that he was excited about meeting me.

That caused a warm rush through my system. Let the Universe and Creation do as it will. For what it is and for what it has been, I am thankful. For what it may be or might become, I can only stand hopefully by without judgment, without preconception but with healthy and more than just lustful anticipation.

I should note, however, that the coupling of endings and beginnings in this cluster of time has not gone unnoticed. Is there some sort of cosmic meaning here? Or do events merely unfold randomly without any rhyme or reason...

And what about that coatless button laying just outside the back door....