Deep Green

It absolutely poured rain all day yesterday and there’s been a damp chill in the air that has had me wearing a puffer jacket . . . even INSIDE. On the plus side things are still fabulously green . . .

Okay, this is New Hampshire, but still

. . . and I know here in Colorado they won’t stay that way for many more weeks.  Even with all the rain this weekend, so far scuba gear is not required, but here are a few “undersea” photos (taken at the Aquarium in La Rochelle) . . . . . . to get you in the right mindset for my newest poem, ostensibly about scuba diving, but really also about life. The best way to read it is to pause slightly at the end of each line, as if you were breathing through a regulator and descending slowly into the deep. 

Buoyancy

The trick
is to maintain
neutral buoyancy,
to avoid panic –
breathing slowly,
moving hardly at all,
except the slow beat
of fins and occasional
tranquil glance at gauges -
intrepid explorer

of another world,
tasting the tang
of salt like tears,
while all manner of things
approach
and slip by
or hide,
peering out
like old women
from behind lace curtains.
In the beginning

I needed a hand
to hold, a steadying hand
to tell me without words
I was not
lost in the deep –
I would not be lost,
as if anyone
can promise that.
Soon, though,
the color

grabs me
and movement
like a ballet
set to the whooshing
pulse of breathing
in and out,
bubbles like crystal
balls rising
to the brightness above.

There is danger
in ascending
and descending, both –
rising too quickly
as the pressure mounts,
falling unnoticed,
slipping into the abyss.

It is not optional
to know where you are.

The trick
is to stay calm
and keep breathing.

I hope that provided a calming break in your day. It’s been an emotional weekend here.  Courtney came out from Minnesota for the long weekend and Doug also took advantage of the holiday to come meet Beckett, so we decided to inter David’s ashes this past Friday afternoon while everyone was here. He’s been gone nearly three and a half years, but it was still a difficult step on the wretched grief road, as you may imagine.

September 2016 – Photo by Clayton Jenkins

Then we adjourned to my house for toasts, memories and togetherness (since we’re all vaccinated), sorely needed after all the COVID isolation.  Doug brought us a bottle from Colene Clemens Vineyards, one of our favorite Oregon wine-tasting destinations. 

Doug, Brittany, Courtney and Chelsea at Colene Clemens Winery

And of course there was cognac.

Meanwhile, a few other dear ones (deliberately vague to respect privacy) are facing medical challenges, some quite daunting, and Brittany is heading into chemo round three in a few days, so a bit of color therapy and calm, slow breathing seemed in order. I find it works even better when prayer and meditation are added to the mix. 

But whatever you do, please keep breathing!

10 thoughts on “Deep Green”

  1. I so LOVE the poem… You are incredibly talented Sunny. Praying for Britt. Love all my Bridge family dear ones…. Hi Doug!!!👋

  2. I too loved your poem and will keep Brittany in my prayers. Sweet and painful scattering David’s ashes. We still have not done that with Ardin’s ashes and it is close to 6 years. Proud of you!

    1. Thank you, Laura. We actually interred David’s ashes, rather than scattering them, in the spot David and I found together after his diagnosis. It’s on the east edge of Grandview Cemetery, over by the City Park golf course. David and I used to walk there all the time, so seemed fitting. It felt a bit strange to order the grave marker that includes my name on it as well, with only my final date missing, but it’s all uncharted waters to one degree or another, as you well know. I think of you often. Thanks for your prayers for Brittany.

  3. Sunny, just got to this. So beautiful please keep it up I enjoy your writings. I see DAVID and I get a lot of pleasure out of that. Thank you so much. See you on the streets!

    1. Thanks, Bob! David is certainly still so very much missed. I’m glad you enjoy seeing the occasional photo of him, souvenirs of so many good times.

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