“Dry Air”

It’s really too beautiful to go to work today, we agreed on the drive over to the station. I stood in the sun waiting for the 8:00 (as opposed to the 8:02) and while many two word phrases could have come to mind, I heard myself whisper aloud: Dry Air.

The other choices now race past me: Beautiful day, warm sun, clear sky, June 1….even “don’t go” was compelling. “Let’s canoe” would have been another fine suggestion, or “let’s go,” implication being to the gardening store. But all that will have to wait until the next lovely day in June. I’ve lived in New England long enough to be fairly sure we will have more such days but I also know this waiting carries at least mild risk. It can so easily be cooler or wetter than one would hope, not to mention muggy hence: the wonderful refreshment today of dry air.

All this talk has a rather meteorological and temporal feel to it, however. I should be able to reach in and find more significance to this beauty all around me. Here come my fellow passengers, climbing aboard at my former “stillpoint” chai latte stop. Each one carries a story and brings themselves to this day ahead. What am I bringing, and doing? What is my significance?

If you’re like me, the list of the undone, unfinished, unorganized and unbegun can be so long it forms a snare around one neck’s, threatening to block from view any of the done, finished, or even “well underway.” Why is that, I wonder? Why is it that a beautiful day can make our soul long to do the things we’ve put off doing? If we look, we can find them shunted to the bottom of our list. Are we doomed never to begin them?

I reach into the pocket of my mind to find those things on my list as my trainmate reviews his math and taps his giant headphones to bring his music and concentration into focus. Ah, here they are: Learn to play my guitar. Play my way through the kids’ piano books of easy tunes. Find all my fragmented writings and poetry and put them into book form. Write stories about my maternal farmer grandmother based on the few precious objects I have that were once hers (I thought of that just yesterday). Simplify, simplify, simplify. (well, I grant you: that was borrowed from a famous resident of nearby Walden Pond.) But you get the idea: if we were able to muster enough energy in the dry, lovely June air to carry us through the work-a-day world and muggy air, would we begin the things we have not yet started, or be able to see anew the things our hands have finished?

It’s past time to get back to “real work” here in my seat and cease day dreaming. I’ll come home early today, and I’m glad June brings light late. I’ll look again at my surprisingly newly opened pink poppies, and decide what to do next.


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