Another Twilight
Twilight is my favorite time to be walking. I'm walking. Right now. Just walking. Walking and typing into a phone in Fort Mason park. Heading home to my husband, my kitchen, the evening meal that awaits my creation.... Conifers line one portion of the footpath, their seed-bearing cones hanging heavy as the clouds in this dusk. Waiting for release. I wonder if trees have memory in their seed pods, if they know they are displaced like me. We are not of here.
This same park holds palm trees on the other side of path. They too reside here in incongruity. I wonder if they dream of heat and mist... of mangroves and skies that scald their frilly little fronds. Their roots longing for the tropical sun. Or is what we think of as 'roots' really a 'seed'. The seed’s job is done, but our roots continue to grow and feed wherever our eyes meet the horizon. Still, I wish there was a place that I belonged… a ground my roots long to thicken in... But I'm a dandelion, a weed, pushing my way through concrete beds, to the nothing - carried away by the whim of the wind…
There is an interesting American Indian saying about the wind, and why they don't wish to move from where they were born... The American Indians say "the wind won't know me." And some people believe that when our bodies die, our souls must go back to the very place we were born in order to transition to whatever is next. I know the feeling they have. Sometimes I dream of the Beatles song..."Once there was a way to get back homeward...once there was a way to get back home..." and am forlorn over wonderment at where my "home" is. I've learned this, though: Home is where the heart is. Really. it is. Now finding that heart, well... that's another thing.