writing

       Running early in the morning just before dawn I was crossing over a familiar crosswalk.

                  I had just crossed the street where the white building is and the corner of the chapel 

              where my dear friend sally played piano.

                  I guess I startled it, as I approached it, this large furry animal had gone a quarter up 

               the tree after a squirrel 

                  It was huge.  It slid down the tree and growled loud.

                  I froze, and yelled, “Go away, go away,” loudly. Many years in Alaska with 

             bears common place, you are taught, do not run and scream as loudly as possible.

            It took off across the street and I stood there for a moment frozen, before I started  

             on.   The squirrel had gone all the way up the tree. 

           So, I slowly started to continue down the walk toward 12 th brick the old prison when I  

           heard something again.

          I turned around and the animal had crossed back over, and I thought omg what if he is  

          coming after me.

                  I stood there watching him in the distance, he paused and went into the weeds and  

         brush and down the hill near toward the railroad tracks.

                  They have turned the lights off early and making the streets dark as the days get  

         shorter.  

         We looked them up, and yes, they roam more at dusk and dawn and go after small  

         rodents 

                  And the one thing they said was DO NOT RUN.

                  I did not, but GOD I WAS SCARED.

                  His growl was something I will not forget for a while.  A sound is hard to describe.

              I have encountered many wild animals running in Panama and as far north as 

              Alaska, but none so threatening as I felt with this one.  I was glad it was so dark, 

             I do not think I would want to remember the way it looked.  The sound was enough. 

I am reading a book, entitled ; “Silence, (in the age of noise.)” Written by: Erline Kagge, he asked Mark Juncosa , “When I asked Mark Juncosa, one of the minds behind Musk’s space programme, whether he ever has the chance to think out the ideas that could revolutionize the rocket industry, he replied: “A normal work day at best contains eight hours of meetings, a few hours to respond to emails. It all blurs together. The only time to shut out the world is when I exercise, surf, take a shower or sit on the toilet. That’s when new solutions surface.”

Excerpt From
Silence
Erling Kagge & Becky L. Crook
https://books.apple.com/us/book/silence/id1217089376
This material may be protected by copyright.

To make my point, a song came to me taking a shower, it came so quickly, I could only step outside to grab a piece of paper and pen and write it down, wet and smeared ink , I later copied it to Microsoft word.

The song was , “Whispered Prayer,” The music to the song was Written and Produced by Christine McNeill-Matteson, Music Written and Performed by Kip Haaheim ,Vocals by Katie Bieber.

First published in “Pieces of Divine Masterpieces: Poet’s Voice, Agathos: An International Review of Humanities and Social Science. ”

To affirm, Mark Juncosa , (Chief Engineer at Space X, ) in his interview with Erline Kragge, “Silence “; polished and copyrighted by, Pantheon, a division of Random House, LLC, 2017.

I get it.” Bob Dylan gets it, as he explains in a 60 minute interview, most artist gets it.

Free your space, and let creativity come to you. Find your ‘silence.’

Below the song…

I

I woke this morning on my birthday and one of the things I knew for sure was, I was going to make scones (Scottish heritage) and I wanted to run.  The weather has turned warmer, and the sun was once again shinning.  I tied my shoes and watched the clock as I knew it was going to take some self-convincing.

As I started to leave the phone rang.  It was Jonathan wishing me Happy Birthday and he wanted to talk.  I told him, we could talk as I go so, I would still have enough time to run and get back to pick up my grandson Keagan.    

He said, I could call him back after the run.  I said, sure, that would be lovely. Then he said, “Mom, please be careful.”  “Mom, be safe out there today.”  I reassured him it was in the middle of the day and where I ran there was almost no one around, yet it was safe. 

Then he repeated it, we said, I love you, and hung up.  

When I got to the parking space and shut down the car, I thought about his caution about being careful.  I thought to myself, he never says that with all the running I have done over the years.  I turned on my watch and phone and starting thinking about some other things instead.  

I started up what the children and I termed over the years, ‘killer’s hill,’ Skeeter is buried there (or his ashes.). As I ran, as usual I talk to God/universe, and then observe the trees and melted snow.  The cottonwood is so lovely with the white bark and barren limbs.  Although havoc to my head in the spring.  Everything is visible, but isn’t that the way it is with life, as we get older.  The foliage falls away and the person we are starts to reveal our limbs and our knots. 

Then up to where I could turn and start back and hills are finally with me, not against me.  As I get closer to the end of the road where I will turn right to head toward the firing range, and eventually the airfield and back to 7^thbrick and the car.  

Running toward the stop sign where I would turn to take the road back as I described.  I hear a loud truck, and I thought, lovely, not.  I of course, was running against the direction of traffic (although there was none). He was about parallel to me as I came closer to the stop sign.

Suddenly, he started sounding his horn, and he did not let up.  I thought, what, what is he doing.  Then everything that happened from this point on can be defined as seconds, or almost instantaneous.  I am now almost level to his cab, and I decided with his holding his horn down I will sprint out ahead and get out of the way.  

As I forged ahead, he starts hitting the horn louder and harder and faster.  I looked up at him, and then it was when I saw a speeding blue sedan turning left and going straight at me, and at the same time trying to start breaking.  I veered to my left as he swerved to my right (his left), coming close to the large sanitation truck’s cab.  He swayed to the middle of the road and continued.  I was clearly stunned, and I looked up at the driver who was looking at me, and I put my hand over my heart and said thank you.  He paused, smiled from the truck, and waved a few times…

The blue car never stopped and had disappeared.  I started to run again.  As I ran, I started processing what had happened.  I thought to myself, I wonder if that gentleman will go to bed tonight and say, “I saved a life today.”  I tried not to cry at that moment and kept going.  

I went back to Jonathan’s words, “Mom, be careful, Mom, be safe.”  I knew it was something different with his words of caution.  I finally had completed the 5 ½ miles, arrived at the car.  I decided it was my birthday n I had a free scooter, and I would get it on the way home.  

I drove up to the window and ordered it.  The lovely African American lady came to the window, and it was slow.  While it was being made, she asked if I had just run.  I told her, yes.

Then I shared what had happened on the run.  I also shared what my son had said, and how it resonated with me, and then this gentleman that fought so hard with his truck horn to keep me from getting hit.  How Jonathan, had seemingly said, ‘a caution prayer, ‘of which he has never done in all the years I have been running.

As, she handed me the drink, she quoted William Cowper’s Hymn that was later published by John Newton, ‘in his 26 Letters on Religious Subjects, to which are added hymns. 

“God moves in a mysterious way, 

His wonders to perform,” 

When I returned home, I shared with Jonathan and then I looked up the rest of the poem. 

I share:

God moves in a mysterious way,
    His wonders to perform.
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
    And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
    Of never-failing skill.
He treasures up his bright designs,
    And works His sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints’ fresh courage take,
    The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break.
    In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
    But trust him for his grace.
Behind a frowning providence,
    He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
    Unfolding ev’ry hour.
The bud may have a bitter taste,
    But sweet will be the flow’r.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
    And scan his work in vain.
God is his own interpreter,
    And he will make it plain.[3]

“God moves in a mysterious way, 

His wonders to perform,” —William Cowper Poem

“Speak to me olé muse and through me tell the story” —Homer

“There you are,” having fallen into helplessness,

confusions,

lost in the pile of life’s debri.

I pick you up, dust you off,

dear old friend,

but don’t leave again…

I smile down at my long lost pen.

copyrighted: CMM August 2010

There was a time,

when the canvas was plain.

Clean brushes we picked up to

dip into the colors of youth,

Choices of hope

to build masterpieces

for tomorrows.

Now we try to patch the

old paint, and sit in front

of a canvas cluttered…

©  CMM  2014