Le tonnerre – thunder – is rumbling heavily, fast approaching. It is as if someone is rolling around bones above or moving a grand piano from one celestial room to another. It can happen sometimes with the heat in Provence where the pressure will build until loose, messy storms break out. They are predicted for today, have been predicted since morning actually but it was only a little while ago that I picked my head up from an article I am working on to notice that the sky had darkened and the swallows were swooping extra low. So I fed the dogs early and took them out just in case. My espadrilles are broken in to the point of being broken and so I have to pick myself carefully along the rock-strewn path. Sapphire-bodied dragonflies hovered like drones over powderpuff clover, wings beating so fast as to be invisible. I closed my eyes for just a moment to feel the breeze skimming across the beads of perspiration on my forehead but then another boom rang out, closer, and Ben, my sweetest Golden, looked at me with eyes shining in panic so we stepped up the pace home.
Despite the heat, I had stepped back on the yoga mat this morning. Just pointing my red-tipped toes towards it and then placing one foot then the next was like slipping into a pool. It is familiar. Somewhere – I think it is my Sister who has it – there is a beaten up, faded photograph of my Mom giving yoga lessons on the front lawn. Robin, my Sister, is doing a pretty good copy of my Mom’s pose but me, the littlest and probably only five at the time was doing something entirely of my own make. I might have added this into my memory but I seem to recall me giggling at how funny I was being. Today I told myself to go slowly, which felt appropriate as if I was parting the thickness of the air with my arms and legs and breath. For you see, it had been quite a while. And this for an act which does me a world of good, one that I usually say strips me down to the best of myself.
Age is not something that I tend to concern myself with much. But lately, my body has been telling me that maybe, just maybe, I need to be a tiny more specific. I am not the only one. My friend DA has written a really excellent piece for the Huffington Post that circles around and pin-pointing some of the same ideas that have been ringing in my head as evasively as the thunder. To me that is some of what the best of this odd internet world can do – a little lineup of gentle pinpricks of thought or ideas – that can help even the most heat-addled of us play connect the dots. So I stepped back on the mat.
Despite the house shutters clanking and the olive tree branches swaying like the sea below my window, I think that the storm has passed us by. I have been sitting next to Ben in the shower of the guest room – his fear fort – for the past fifteen minutes but something imperceptible shifted in the air so I got up to see. The sky is a soft orange in the distance – but in the opposite direction now. Maybe the heat lightning is cracking its whip over there, so quick and passing but I wonder if it is waking something up in someone else’s heart as well.
Hi Heather,
Stepping onto the mat brings back vivid memories for you. We are back in the mountains. I feel such peace here. Like the hills have wrapped their arms around me. I can never understand why dogs are so fearful when storms blow up. I love storms. Such pretty photos you have taken. janey
Gorgeous as ALWAYS…………hate that BEN is scared.I do not like THUNDER either………..nor do I like rain!SCARES ME!Always has always will…………………
DA's post was a goodie!I think A LOT of us are there…………perhaps WE all NEED to land in PROVENCE To figure it out and while we are there we can work on the BODIES TOO!XOXO
That awakening. Whatever triggers it, we need it. At some moments in life more than others. Nature can be such a powerful reminder of how small we are, in a good way.
This is a gorgeous invitation into your physical and emotional world, Heather. And inspiring to me on many levels.
xo
(And by the way, thank you for the link love!)
Back from Paris and missing it I decided it was time to resume my Tai Chi class to get mysel grounded again! After 1/2 an hour I was drenched like I had been in a monsoon, but a sweetly, softly flowing Yin and yang. I know after my month absence from classes (which I had just barely started before our trip) that I will be sore tomorrow, but I think it will be "a good sore." Your words today had me out scurrying with the dogs to miss the downpour and then to stay nearby to Ben -what a treasure you are for each other!
So beautiful, Heather. I can picture you sitting in the shower with Ben, as my own puppies try to crawl under my skin to escape thunder and lightning. They are rescues, having been subjected to every conceivable inhumane act, without shelter of any type, so when I see them shake in fear, I am reminded what they must have felt when there was no shower stall or loving arms to keep the monster away! Angela Muller
The thunder nand lightning remind me of the Midwest, Michigan, particularly.
Nature expresses her language of involvement, in beauty or fear and can disturb meditative silence and poses.
Life consists of four seasons which sometimes overlap. One season can seem so short or can linger.I guess regrets are like spurs looking for meanings.
The petals strewn on the stairs look romantic.
I'm not disciplined, even though it also does me a world of good. Thanks for the reminder to get back on the mat.
These photos look like paintings and I am in love with your final words. Yes, stepping onto the mat after so long… something I need to do in a different area. I may be good about diving into the pool three times a week but am loaded with reasons (aka "excuses") for not maintaining a writing practice — even just for myself. It won't happen on its own and one can't wait for inspiration to strike, one has to invite it in by opening the door as often as possible — as you demonstrate with your ever-growing body of work on this blog.
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Beautiful words and photos. You captured the approaching storm very well. I'm longing for some storms to skip this way but we probably won't see any for months and it makes me a bit sad.