Heart Happy (cathy_edgett) wrote,
Heart Happy
cathy_edgett

Fourth of July

I hear the word "forth" on this day; come forth, be forth.  It has been quiet in my neighborhood, only the sound of children's voices in the evening, as we actually have warmth.  It looks like we may have an evening celebration without the guest  of fog, and, of course, everyone holds their breath, because as soon as we whisper the word, in it swoops.

In my neighborhood, when a house sells, it is often scraped and a McMansion goes up in its place.  We have a fake Tara nearby which could not look more out of place, but yesterday we visited an Open House, a "cottage" built in the 1920's when this was all grassland.  It must have stood alone.  It has a beautiful winding walk to the front door, and porches for benches, and teeny-tiny bedrooms and closets, and the most wonderful feel.  I hope whoever buys it keeps it as it is because it is a house with character and history and feels well-loved and placed.

I haven't heard any firecrackers this year,  only the voices of children, and one puppy who is not yet used to his new home.  His cries echo through the valley.  I think tonight of celebrating like Edward Abbey.  I'll light a juniper scented candle since it is not the time for a fire, and it is also not the time of the full moon, but the deer are here, the crickets, and perhaps, an owl.

Edward Abbey from Desert Solitaire:

I was sitting out back on my 33,000-acre terrace, shoeless and shirtless, scratching my toes in the sand and sipping on a tall iced drink, watching the flow of evening over the desert. Prime time: the sun very low in the west, the birds coming back to life, the shadows rolling for miles over rock and sand to the very base of the brilliant mountains. I had a small fire going near the table — not for heat or light but for the fragrance of the juniper and the ritual appeal of the clear flames. For symbolic reasons. For ceremony. When I heard a faint sound over my shoulder I looked and saw a file of deer watching from fifty yards away, three does and a velvet-horned buck, all dark against the sundown sky. They began to move. I whistled and they stopped again, staring at me. “Come on over,” I said, “have a drink.” They declined, moving off with casual, unhurried grace, quiet as phantoms, and disappeared beyond the rise. Smiling, thoroughly at peace, I turned back to my drink, the little fire, the subtle transformations of the immense landscape before me. On the program: rise of the full moon.

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