Last night was a brightly colored weather calendar.
Rain fell sideways for hours and hours and hours.
Wind threatened to turn our stationary house built upon a rock
into a house boat
and send us down the falls.
Thunder came in one gigantically long clap
that knocked pictures off the walls.
The lightning came indirectly from Mother Nature
as the electricity danced with our generator in a mechanical two-step
It was a frightening night
to say the least.
We woke to an ebullient waterfall
telling us the story of last night in her own language
of loud, full, boisterous falls.
And then I noticed it.
My log was not there.
Years ago, in another night of
raging, threatening weather,
the log was wrested from the place she then called home
and came to perch on the edge of the largest drop
of our waterfall.
Right on the edge, I tell you.
She lived on the edge
in shade and sun,
this log did,
with just enough of each
for her to become her own ecological system.
Plants sprouted on her
grew on her
bloomed on her
then died on her.
The water rushed around her.
The water froze around her.
Beavers skipped over her to get to the other side.
Driftwood pieces scooted by.
Some waved at her,
some didn’t find her worthy of attention.
And still she stayed just the way she was, this bole,
totally un affected.
One summer, she taught Handful how to play her version
of Pooh sticks.
His glee was infectious
just as she knew it would be.
She became my womentor,
I spent many an hour
talking to her
listening to her
learning from her.
I don’t mind telling you
that I already miss her terribly.
I also don’t mind if you know that
I cried my way through the morning.
She may have looked like just a log
stuck on the edge of the falls,
but to me
she was more.
Much, much more.
She was my friend, my guide, my muse.
I admired her steadfastness,
how content she was being
She didn’t try to be water
or a boulder
or a bush.
And you know what?
As good friends as we were,
she never once asked me if the sticks
that attached themselves to her end
made her look fat.
She didn’t allow the rushing water
to steer her from her course
or move her from her perch
or frazzle her.
Nothing phased her.
She didn’t get flashy
or show off
or (try to) steal the spotlight from the falls.
Most people didn’t even notice her
till I pointed her out.
She was who she was
she was where she wanted to be,
she was fulfilling her life’s purpose,
and that was Enough.
I’ve been making some internal changes
in my life of late,
inspired in part
by The Log.
There have been other dramatic storms
since she took up here
so why did she choose last night
to let go and move on?
Perhaps she’s taught me everything I need to know.
Perhaps it was just plain time for her to go.
Perhaps you’ll say
”It was just a log.”
You’d be wrong.
But then again, maybe you’ll say
”I know you’ll miss her
and I understand why.”
and then you’ll be right
and I’ll be grateful.
Maybe she didn’t go far?
Beautifully expressed, one can sense your great loss.
Beautiful story of life and truth. I am glad you weathered the storm all safe!
BEAUTIFUL dear Jeanne!I love the description of your relationship with your log. I know you miss her and I feel for you. And knowing you, you will find your way to something else… or something else finds its way to you. Things happen for a reason. Stay healthy and creative!
Lovely post and I completely understand about “the log”. Those of us who can see/feel/feel connected to something or some place in nature find a connection that others miss out on. I currently do not have a log, though where I lived previously I did. She was positioned in such a way that she invited me to sit and visit. Where I live now I have several “logs” even though I live in the city – lovely paths to walk, an arroyo, a large pine tree out my window, and a bunny that surprises me frequently on my walks. There will be a new “log” for you, so be on the lookout. Take Care
I’m proud to know you, even if just a little.
Thank you for this. I’m looking at the touchstone spots in my environment anew…
Beautifully and profoundly expressed to the core .. yours and the log’s. In the heart of friendship shared, your loss was ours too and though there be many a hidden gem along the way, none replaces the wanderer who settled long enough to leave such warm memories.
Your beautiful soul is such an inspiration to all who are privileged to know even a small part of you. Thank you for sharing this. Your loss comes at a time when so many are dealing with similar feelings of emptiness and fear. And your feelings, expressed so tenderly, bring hope.
oh. oh …
I love the wisdom you glean from life..
and the way you and the magic and miracles just sit a spell and share…
love you sugar bean…