A steady low wind, another cool unsettled day. The long grasses visible from my upstairs window, all going to seed, so various, in a great quilt of color and texture, each patch rippling and bending in its own fashion against the next, where green partakes of red or purple or blue, the blades tipped in quill or bristle or down. So many little birds in the creek willows, and the unfortunate mallard pair who glide in to land on the puddle of remaining pond, which, unfed, grows narrower and murkier every day.
***
I have been spending quality time (and many dollars) with the disciples of allopathic medicine these days, tracking down the sources of my ongoing faintness of heart. We nailed the blocked right bundle branch that screws up the heartbeat--purely a wiring anomaly, something I was born with. Now today I get the full chemistry--the "comprehensive metabolic panel"--to see if we can determine what's causing the stubborn edema and breathlessness. I have refrained from treating myself in any way so that I can know via Western diagnostic technology exactly what it is I should treat. But after these tests today I'll turn to my own courses while waiting for results. As a computer-potato, I think I strained my lazy organs coping with the flood and its aftermath. My heart and kidneys are both slightly underavailable to me even normally; I have had episodes of kidney trouble in the past. Now I'll drag out the Mills pharmacopoiea. I have red root for lymph circulation and movement of interstitial fluids; I'll dally with dandelion for liver and kidneys. One or two other things. And I'll dust off the yoga mats, unearth the venerable leotard.
Hanging out at the place next door, sitting on its deck in the dappled shade of its cottonwoods, overlooking the now-clear fast-moving creekwater, watching orioles tend their nests in the willows. I will be fine. But I must give up my eastward move for reasons of strain on health and unavailability of funds now redirected to medical bills, and the flat-out refusal of my body to go where my mind (and everyone else) tells it to. I can't pack and haul--I can hardly wash my own dishes--and the strain and aggravated edema sure to result from five or six days on the road would do me in.
My body has in fact led my mind to the neighboring property. I've been spending a lot of time there because my washed-out footbridge forces me to trespass, walk over there to cross the creek and then double back to my pasture to feed and water the llamas. I discover that it's a healing place of unbelievable beauty. I am smitten. Yesterday I mailed a letter to its owner, a woman in Los Angeles, about the possibility of living there.
It may be true that I am to remain unattached to a home in this world--for a little longer, anyway. But I do sense a rose-covered cottage with my name carved in the lintel in the perceptible distance. I'll allow for it.
***
Today, or hereabouts, is the two-year anniversary of salon blog 0002614 in all its various guises. Let us eat cake!
11:59:25 AM 
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