|Morning sun lights up a dew drop on the tip of a bamboo leaf.|
Thick clouds of mist hung over the water early this morning when I took Moon-the-Dog out. Now the sun has dissipated those rather mysterious swirling blankets of river fog—and much of the dew, which sparkled like bits of diamonds on everything from leaves to grass, has also all but vanished.
I was glad to see that sometime during night the river peaked. I'm always surprised how quickly this reversal can occur. Yet that's the usual drill…slow to rise, fast to recover. Now the water is almost back down to normal pool. And while not clear, murky rather than muddy.
For the past few days I've been working on sorting through various boxes of cards, manuscripts, photos, notes, business cards, brochures, ticket stubs, clippings, magazines, booklets. The paper detritus of several decades of work. At last half the stuff can be tossed into the trash without a second glance. But a lot of things deserve saving—or at least a final, closer look before discarding. And this winnowing is not without a rather hefty emotional toll.
After five or six hours of it yesterday, I had to quit—overpowered by memories. Letters from family and friends no longer around. A mirror in accumulated bits and pieces reflecting both good and bad of a great portion of my life. Reminders of times and places and people forever gone, decisions wrongly made, roads not taken—and overall, of time's relentless passage.
You can only take so much of this depressing déjà vu in a given dose; at least that's my case. A box, maybe two, per day…that's my limit. And there are a lot of boxes.