Rattlesnakes and Butterflies

Life decided to play with me. With twinkling star eyes she keeps handing me every last thing I have ever wished for, until I feel like there is nothing more to wish for, unfulfilled desires fade into twilight fireworks. The list of blessings runs long for presentation here, but here are some recent highlights:

Saw five turkey vultures sitting in a dead oak tree, arranged for maximum psychological effect, on a hot weekday.

Ate lunch in a canoe moored to a dead oak tree full of woodpecker holes. Woodpecker came by while we ate, the vibrations travelled through the tie line, into the canoe, and up my spine to the top of my scalp, glowing gold, refracting time.

Swam with the fishes in Lake Sonoma, somewhere I hadn't visited in ~30 years, since before it was a lake, let a few tears of joy salt the water. Used to be nudists and hot springs, but those all bubble on the bottom of the lake now.

Called dragon flies to me, like when I was a kid in our Petaluma orchard. Hoka hey.

Saw a hawk carrying a 3-4 foot long snake from my living room window. The snake writhed and gleamed in the sun, the curves of the end of it's tail clear against the soft blue sky. I used to wish to see that so bad, soooo bad, ever since the time I thought I saw such a thing when I was 12.

Had an amazing afternoon trail ride at Briones park. Direct impact with an oak tree let me watch my blood steadily darken my new yellow gloves, the right glove turned as red as the oak where my bike chipped it's bark, nothing major but it woke me up, a ceremonial blood letting. I wrecked while avoiding the wreckage of the rider ahead of me, again. Funny how the passage of time changes during sideways slides, jumps, and right before wrecks, action packed moments blossoming solid seconds. Sometimes I feel like maybe those're the only times I'm really alive, then and in the throes of love. Maybe those memories just stand out better over the years, inner gyroscope activated adreno-testosto-fun reminders. Smoke 'em if ya got 'em.

Near the top of the biggest climb I saw a young diamondback rattlesnake, stopped to say hello. He rattled at me and slid off the trail back into the tall grass. What a beauty. The pattern on his back called to my ancestors, potent.

A butterfly bounced along just in front of my wheel the rest of the way up, leading me with levity, showing off for me with impossible patterns of movement and color.

John Muir, his body buried in nearby Martinez, got up from the spot his spirit reclined near the trail, blade wild oats dangling from the corner of his mouth. He ran along beside my bicycle, laughing and shouting and encouraging me with endless possibilities and mountain visions as the grade grew steeper. The thistles were purple, the mustard yellow, the grasses reddish-purple, blended together undulating satisfaction. John's my bud.

Willow had her baby and we're going to see her this Sunday, gift of gifts. Willow's cool as the ocean wind, and I feel so happy for her, excited for all our children & other dependents by any other name. My generation feels oats of late, clear light.