chop wood,carry water

I had a moment of grace today. That’s the word I thought of, grace. As in divine. 

Yesterday was sweltering sweaty heat, everyone complaining and fanning ourselves. All the moisture in the ground from the recent deluge seemed to be rising up as steam.  Last night there was a huge electrical storm, with wild flashes of lightning illuminating, for a piercing instant, the dark green ocean and sweeping veils of white rain scudding across. Thunder so loud we quaked in our boots.   Just as I was about to stop reading and  turn the bedside lamp out the lamp flickered and went dark. The ceiling fan stopped turning . Electricity’s gone out yet again. 

I woke to a cooler day with no humidity, but the sea today is a weird dark blackish  colour I’ve never seen it before. Run-off, from the Brisbane and other flooded rivers south of here, says D.

Early morning I swept the deck. It is one of those rare domestic chores I always find utterly satisfying ( I’ve heard some people feel this way about washing dishes). When I’d shushed all the fallen pandanus and other leaves over the edge and the lovely greyed decking was nice and clear,  I sat down in my favourite spot, looking out across the trees to the sea. It’s probably my favourite spot in the whole world. 

The sun came out from behind clouds, casting dappled shadow patterns through the overhanging banksia trees. Looking out to the strange-coloured sea I thought  about my mother’s ashes scattered out there, and whether I still wanted my ashes scattered out there one day. I was thinking about a recent conversation where someone said that cremation  has a huge carbon footprint. 

Seems the most planet-friendly, future-friendly way to dispose of dead humans is to bury us (upright?) in a shallow  grave, in a cardboard coffin. I wouldn’t mind that at all, if I could be buried right here,  in the sanddunes - but I suppose that’d be illegal...

Such were my musings on this not particularly cheerful topic.. yet I realised I felt extaordinarily peaceful and joyful, just sitting there.  

Joyful ie. present. No need to do anything but sit and watch the dappled banksia shadows quivering in the breeze and  fading in and out as clouds passed. A (ridiculously) rare state for me, to be not thinking. Thinking I have to DO something or other, read something, write something,  ring someone or tidy or buy or organise, plan, or worry about something. 

To my surprise, F wandered outside ( must have wrenched his head out of  the Simpsons comics/iPod)  and sat down beside me in perfect silence,  like the feline that he is. 

Well I want to say how sort of spiritual it all was etc but then of course after a few sweet minutes he said ‘what are you thinking about?’ and broke the silence. Then I farted rather loudly, whoops, and  F said ‘Gross!’ and went back inside, and in a little while so did I. I felt vaguely sad already that the perfect moment had passed. As moments good and bad always do.  Like a puff of smoke.

In the no-longer-quite-perfectness I noticed my return to the usual mundane mental grasping & bla bla.

Still, I felt full of energy. An afterglow. There is a  wonderful wind blowing in off the ocean today. I flung all the doors and windows open,  hung bedding outside, and finally got to work on the major mildew-removing project upstairs, in the room most water damaged by the storm. Mouldy carpet etc. Now the place smells of clove oil. 

Chop wood, carry water.