Turning Away But Not Away

The dogs let us sleep in a bit this morning, so by the time Jinx and I were out for our walk, dawn was just about to break. We stopped long enough for me to take a photo just before the sun peeked over the mountains. When the big star appeared, I took one more photo and then we turned to continue our walk.

When I turned around, I saw the sunlight touch the far ridge to the west, above the cemetery. As I watched, the light traveled across the earth towards us, like a curtain of gold being drawn down. I could almost taste the air at that moment, like a dollop of honey sitting on the back of my tongue, slowly trickling sweet warmth into me.

And I realized that I was doing something new. I’ve seen many dawns in my life, but I am usually so focused on the sun itself that I don’t turn to the west and watch the effect the rising sun has on the land. With my back to the power of the fire in the sky, I could see its majesty by the changes it brought to the frosted landscape in the opposite direction.

***

The other night, Jinx and Dixee became agitated late in the evening. It started with Jinx. He moved to the various heat registers in the floor, whining low in his throat. Then Dixee began barking in her shrill way, scampering from room to room, following Jinx in his investigation. Finally, my wife said, “Do you think they hear something in the basement?”

The furnace wasn’t running and I bent my ear to one of the registers, but couldn’t hear a thing. “I don’t think so,” I said, “but I guess I can go take a look.” I left the dogs inside with Mrs. Orr and went to see.

Opened the basement door, turned on the light, and there he was. In the Have-A-Hart live trap, a big possum looking back at me with a forlorn cast in his black eyes. I went to the shed and got some heavy gloves, then returned and carefully picked up the trap. The possum opened his mouth in a silent hiss, showing me his many, many, many teeth. Using the flashlight, I made my way off our property, down the road, up to the cemetery, and opened the trap at the base of the hill there. Mr. Possum took off in a dead run for the treeline, and I admonished him not to come back. I seem to recall that he spoke a promise over his gray shoulder not to do so. But I also recalled that possums are notorious liars, so I shrugged and came back to the house.

***

It’s a good thing to avoid listening to, watching, or reading the news. Consumption of the news is a decidedly unhealthy thing. I should keep this in mind. I mean, I know the contents are toxic and untrustworthy. To open myself up to it is akin to some sleazy stranger approaching me on a street corner, offering me a greasy bottle with no label, and hissing, “Here. Have a drink. Made it myself. Completely safe. Tastes great!” and then me upending the bottle. Pure foolishness. I need to keep before me the concept of Michael Crichton’s Gell-Mann Amnesia.

So now to the day. Bacon is frying in the kitchen, and the middle bedroom is crying out to be repainted, and I need to lay wood in the stove because tonight will be quite cold. It’s so good to be in my home, among my loved ones and loved things, to be away from the poisonous atmosphere of my workplace, and to feel healthy and strong and useful. I can see the effect of my happy home on my own soul, just as I can turn from the sun and see its effects on the far hillside, studded with marble and granite sentries.

~ S.K. Orr