Psalm

It all comes down to this….how to stay in the moment, above the fray, while preparing a table in the presence of mine enemies.

Last week I called a Canadian pharmacy to order one of Peggy’s meds. In the course of conversation I asked the gentleman if he had a spare bedroom in the event Trump gets elected. He cracked up in piteous laughter. Easy enough for him to live in the moment.

My moment is all static. On the tube voices barbed and shrill(ary) / Speaking of Trump and Hillary / He to the dump / She to the pillory. Last night in one corner was the man with the evangelical hair trying to walk with Jesus. Except that he is running with Zeus, that mischief-maker and hurler of lightning bolts. His opponent was all jabber and jibes, leaving limp words on the floor and bad optics. I’m done with it.

So here I am staring at this mostly blank page. My moment. Word-squiggles come and go like dog paws in the snow. Much can be said for absences. Yesterday I had a bone density test. It’s official: there are two inches less of me than ten years ago. I miss those inches. I’d grown emotionally attached to my spine and all surrounding tissue yet if I had it back I wouldn’t know what to do with it. I still couldn’t slam-dunk.

I’m back now, back in the moment. Digressions are allowed, I think. I must fact-check that. The peach is mealy. My fern looks distressed. But the hummingbird seems to be applauding at the feeder. I wouldn’t want to interrupt his ovation. The shrubs are still verdant and nameless flowers are flowering. I’m thankful for this kind weather and the sundowner breeze at 15 mph. Peggy is at my side still robust and nubile. She is a Millennial of the previous century. Yes, this is my green pasture. As close to Eden as I’m ever liable to row. I shall not want for anything more.

My Rx is to grow a portable Walden, a place of retreat. Disobey civilly. It’s all right if Ralph Waldo drops off some bagels in the morning. Even an afternoon stroll through Concord is allowed provided with deaf ears. The perturbations seen and heard on T.V. and social media are just gnats to be swiped. Sheep bah. Equine nay. America is being grated again. I will not allow the noise into this moment. The silence is a psalm, enormous. I am no longer at two with Nature, these paths, that still pond. At the table before me bread will be broken. No more exhausted words. Stringed instruments are permitted. Oboes too and bassoons. Now reeds. Here is my cup running over with water music, waves of fanfares and adagios. Can we not begin here?