Light-Eyed Witches By The Sea

Every Easter, the nuns at school would pointedly remind us that our egg hunting and Easter bunnies had nothing to do with Jesus' resurrection and were just a bunch of Pagan Nonsense. While we understood their concern, this had exactly as much effect as their admonitions about Halloween; that is to say, none.

Anyway, it seemed a wee bit disingenuous, considering that right after class we'd run down to Girl Scouts in the church hall, where we'd weave Easter baskets and make bunnies out of pom poms. We loved ourselves some Pagan Nonsense in Girl Scouts. Even our Brownies ceremony smacked of something otherworldly.

In my own family, this Easter dichotomy between Christianity and Pagan symbolism wasn't a problem. While my parents claimed to be Lutheran, I never saw them attend church - though whether this was because they were irreligious or just too cheap to tithe, I don't know. Whatever the case, there was nothing to prevent the hedonistic thrill of Whopper eggs and marshmallow Peeps on Sunday morning.

Back in those days, Spring break almost always came at Easter week, and we'd travel down to the seaside to spend it with relations. If we were lucky, the wild flowers would be out, and the hills and fields would be sheets of  bright color. The Indian paintbrushes were always my favorite.

Arriving at my aunt and uncle's though, it's the smell of roses that I remember, the velvety scent of the flowers that lined the walkway. My cousins and I would use the petals for money when we played store, and the smell had even seemed to permeate the wood of the house. This smell, beyond anything else, told me that Easter was coming.

Their house had a most magical feeling to it. There were two boxer dogs, polished wood floors, a piano and a clock with Westminster chimes. There was a rug made in concentric circles we could use for our space hoppers. There was even a ghost and a haunted mirror, because in our family, what else would you expect? It was all an adventure and great fun.

 If perchance the weather was dark and stormy, we'd run about the yard with our pinwheels, in defiance of tornadoes or lighting strikes. The sky would be grey, the way the Gulf water is grey, and the wind would taste like salt. I liked to imagine (still do, sometimes) that there were fish up there, silvery or mackerel colored, a whole other ocean in the sky.

Come Saturday evening it would be time to make our nests. This was a tradition from the old country and one of our favorite things to do. We'd gather up grass and flowers to make a pretty place for the rabbit to lay his eggs, and scatter the rose petals all around. Then, instead of going to bed like we were supposed to, we'd stay up talking in the dark, while the Westminster chimes rang off the hours.

The next day would come the culmination of the Pagan Nonsense, the egg hunt. Of course I'm joking, but egg hunting (I've come to believe) is an inborn human instinct, or close to it. Didn't Helen Keller write that, as a small child with no hearing, sight or language, finding eggs was her greatest joy? It's a uniquely satisfying endeavor, especially for children. Whatever it was my cousin and I were really celebrating on Easter, whenever we'd pull a colorful egg from its hiding places, it certainly felt like magic.

And as always, late that afternoon, it would be time to leave, heading back inland away from the sea. We would usually cry a little as we waved goodby, because we didn't want the fun to end. I would stare out the back window of the station wagon, watching the fish jump in the Colorado and the bay,  knowing that after we crossed Lake Texana there was no turning back. Soon enough we would pass through the fields of flowers, then the hills, and then back to boring old life at home. Dull as dishwater and dry as toast.

But there would always be next year, and when our childhoods were over, our own children to carry on.

Sometimes I wonder if Sister Angelita is looking down on us from Heaven with that pinched look on her face, as we indulge in our Pagan Nonsense and revel in the arrival of Spring. Maybe so. But I guess I'll have to leave that to the gods to sort out.

I hope they'll understand.

Candy-Colored Sky

Misperception can be a funny thing. Under the right conditions, it can even be charming. 

When I dashed out the front door the other evening, I was taken aback by the violet sunset lighting up the sky. What was even more surprising was the scent. A sweet, delicious smell hung over everything. It smelled just like the sky looked - like candy.

What I'd momentarily forgotten were the masses of  pink jasmine growing around the corner of the house.

 For just a split second, it had seemed like the sky had a scent. 

As misperceptions go, it was quite a lovely one.

Luck In A Pinch

Happy St. Patrick's Day.

If you, like me, are short on four-leafed clover but long on weeds, here's a handy tip: common yellow wood sorrel will still bring you luck in a pinch. :)

ecoillumination

A word I literally dreamed up to describe that moment at twilight when flowers seem to glow from within.

The Rustling In The Hedge

Maybe this strange Autumnal weather is getting to me. The calendar says it's nearly spring, but something seems off. The days are hot, but there is the edge of a chill underneath. Sound travels for miles, low to the ground. The barkings of dogs echo the way they do in Fall. The birds are nesting and the wildflowers are out, and yet the greenish-yellow-orangey-brown foilage seems all wrong. The leaves are falling. It just doesn't look or feel like Spring.

The live oaks losing their leaves is normal in warm weather. I know this only because I checked with the forest service. It's not something I can remember seeing, masses of brown leaves whirling and fluttering down the road. So many you'll slip if you try to walk. In late Summer, maybe. Not at this time of year.

It might be normal for live oaks, but that doesn't explain the color of the maple tree in the yard, or the senna leaves turning orange in the fields. So orange it almost looks artificial. But it's not, and it's all over in the neighborhood. I checked on that, too, but this time there is no explanation at hand. The local variety of senna is remarkably sturdy. It has green leaves that fold up at night and puts out yellow flowers like clockwork. Drought won't kill it, animals won't eat it, it goes through its regular pattern year after year. Except this year. Maybe it's just El Nino, or La Nina, or whichever cycle we're in now. Maybe things have just been knocked off kilter for the moment.

Though the agarita seems right on time with its blossoms and needle sharp leaves

But of course I'm just delaying what I've come here to say. Circling round and round the point, hoping to find some comfortable place to land. Even knowing full well there is no comfortable place. 

Yeah, maybe the strange Autumnal weather is just getting to me. The way things just feel wrong. Maybe it's nothing, but last night, right after dusk, I heard a rustling in the hedge. 

Well, that's no big deal, really. There are lots of things that can rustle a hedge. Birds, cats, skunks...there's even a little fox who comes around at night, sometimes. The thing in the hedge was bigger, though. Maybe the size of a deer, by the sound of it, even though I should have seen anything as big as that. 

The whatever-it-was burst out of the hedge and raced across the yard, but even though I was looking,I could see nothing. Then, there was more rustling, this time from the rock garden behind me. I turned to look, but again, nothing. Suddenly the rustling came from the patch of grass just to my left. I was staring right at it. Still, there was not a thing to see, not even leaves stirred by the wind. 

I was getting the impression it might be time to go inside, so I headed up the path toward the house. I began to feel slightly annoyed, though. What was causing these happenings around the yard? There was a mystery here, and it seemed  remiss not to investigate at least a minute longer. I retraced my steps back to the driveway. 

Down the road, a largish, light-colored animal was barrelling toward our end of the street. It might have been a deer, but judging from the awkward, heavy gait, was more likely an escaped goat. It was in a panic, by the way it zigzagged back and forth. It crashed into the neighbor's fence and bounced off the barbed wire and  foliage. Then it was gone. Gone? How could it be gone, without a sound or any movement of the trees and brush? Nevertheless, it was. I stared at the spot where the animal had been, thinking that this must be the answer. As unlikely as it seemed, it must have been an errant goat crashing around making those noises. How I managed not to see it would require more thought, but that would keep for later

I turned to go back to the house.

The rustling rushed up behind me, fast. I could hear feet and claws on the paving stones as it ran and could feel it coming up on my heels. I jumped forward, immediately thinking of the neighbor's rottweiler, even though it's a sweet old dog that wouldn't hurt a fly. But it seemed so big and so fast, that rottweiler seemed the most logical conclusion as to what was chasing me.

Despite the surge of adrenaline zipping up my spine, a quick glance behind showed an empty pathway.

 I climbed the porch steps and surveyed the yard. Now the rustling seemed to come from all around. It was in the shrubbery and the bushes and the flower beds. It was out there in the middle of the yard, where there was nothing, no visual to explain the sound. The sound was just there.

It occurred to me that maybe it wasn't a panicked goat that had caused the noise, but that it was something out there - the thing making the noise - that had panicked the goat. Perhaps some sort of  damned thing- like creature was about to wreak havoc on the lawn. There's nothing like existential fear to inspire creative imaginings. But even so...

I recited the prayer for all sentient beings to be released from suffering and gradually the rustling stopped. Finally, I went inside and nothing else strange happened for the rest of the night.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was my imagination, or some weird weather pattern stirring up odd breezes in hedges and making both goats and humans uneasy.  I don't know. But to tell you the truth, I don't think I will sleep soundly until this false autumn is over and real spring comes at last.