Stay Where You Are
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
I was on my way home from a long day--picking up things for the shop, getting ready for the Happy Hour event Tuesday, working in Astoria til 3:30, confirming orders, grocery shopping and buying a vacuum, meeting friends for bowling and dinner--and then this.
When I passed the estuary in Seaside, I turned around and ran back. The colors are real. The river was perfectly still, as was the air. Literally 20 feet behind me steady streams of traffic flowed north and south on Highway 101. How could I be the only one stopping to see this?
Last night I wrote in my journal (at 1:00 am) about wanting to stay up and stare at the fog. Cannon Beach was socked in, and, again, the air was still and peaceful--and soundless, muffled and tucked in by a heavy, grey mist. Tonight I wanted to enjoy the clarity of the reflections in the water, the striking, firey colors, the fact that I stood on the line between the reality of espresso kiosks and logging trucks and shopping centers and the timeless ebbing and flowing world of tides, ducks and sunsets. Strangely, the two nights achieved the same qualities and evoked the same feelings for me but through totally opposite settings.
As I was driving to Astoria this morning, going over the lists of places and purchases to come, a clear message arrived in my head: "Stay where you are." As in "be present," "in the now," this moment. The thought kept coming back to me throughout the day, and, as I think about it now, came to me first when I was driving past this very estuary this morning.
I was on my way home from a long day--picking up things for the shop, getting ready for the Happy Hour event Tuesday, working in Astoria til 3:30, confirming orders, grocery shopping and buying a vacuum, meeting friends for bowling and dinner--and then this.
When I passed the estuary in Seaside, I turned around and ran back. The colors are real. The river was perfectly still, as was the air. Literally 20 feet behind me steady streams of traffic flowed north and south on Highway 101. How could I be the only one stopping to see this?
Last night I wrote in my journal (at 1:00 am) about wanting to stay up and stare at the fog. Cannon Beach was socked in, and, again, the air was still and peaceful--and soundless, muffled and tucked in by a heavy, grey mist. Tonight I wanted to enjoy the clarity of the reflections in the water, the striking, firey colors, the fact that I stood on the line between the reality of espresso kiosks and logging trucks and shopping centers and the timeless ebbing and flowing world of tides, ducks and sunsets. Strangely, the two nights achieved the same qualities and evoked the same feelings for me but through totally opposite settings.
As I was driving to Astoria this morning, going over the lists of places and purchases to come, a clear message arrived in my head: "Stay where you are." As in "be present," "in the now," this moment. The thought kept coming back to me throughout the day, and, as I think about it now, came to me first when I was driving past this very estuary this morning.
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