IS PEACE NOT HERE FOR ME TO SEE?

(Columbine, not bougainvillea.)

Taking a moment this morning to stare out the window and hope that my brain kicks in. The magenta bougainvillea on the side wall utterly taunts me with its garden space imperialism. Besides expanding into Luz’s backyard (she probably needs the color as I think her yard is largely cement), it is lurching into the open space (and I use that term loosely) in my jungle. Yesterday, I spent a few minutes beginning the trimming operation to clip out the encroachment over my stalwart gladiolus which appear yearly with absolutely no attention during the year. I barely water out there. I see that the canna and wisteria are similarly soldiering on, while the Russian kale stands around like palm trees at an oasis, expecting to be admired simply because they are.

Above me on the breezeway trellis, I can see the shadowy meatloaf shapes that can only mean cats. Oona Minnie Pearl Moonlight and Idris like to sleep up there, probably to avoid fleas, but they also have a good view and they are conveniently close to me should they need to send a text or just generally make a standing statement on my keyboard. 

There's a cloud bank eddy to the west, this grey miasma being visually sliced by several trees, one of which is a magnolia or some other flowering tree. Perhaps I should walk around the block and investigate. To my right, there is the same tree but backed with blue sky. 

And in the very far corner on the catercorner man shed of the neighbor, there is still another roof borne kitty enjoying the sun and having a rounded back leg extension bath. She is a tortoise colored kitty who looks so much like Butterscotch that I always have to look hard to see who it is. I don't know if she is of the family of strays or she actually belongs to someone. The late Pogonip's brother, a stray I have named Corram after a character in Philip Pullman's trilogy, The Book of Dust, lounged on a chair that often housed Pogonip. He is a handsomer cat being a tabby, my personal favorite.

Okay, I have wandered and meandered enough and I really need to finish writing my sequence. 

I went to YTT yesterday not feeling very well, particularly in my shoulders from all the hoeing and digging. I took some mega-pain pills. That said, after a few sun salutations we spent the rest of that class working on the strap wall and I completely forgot about my shoulder pain. I know it is petty and not in the path of spiritual yoga, but after feeling less-than so often, given the physical dexterity, mobility, and strength of my fellows, it was nice to feel I was in my home space and in command of my practice there.

I had occasion to listen to Stevie Wonder's Talking Book recently. I am pulling together some music for the summer wedding of a close acquaintance (one of my cousin Sue's best friends). And then I was unpacking the vast empire of cds that make up most of my wealth. Anyway, this song, Blame It On the Sun wafts through the brain this morning.

BLAME IT ON THE SUN

Where has my love gone?
How can I go on?
It seems dear love has gone away
Where is my spirit?
I'm nowhere near it
Oh yes, my love has gone astray

But I’ll blame it on the sun

The sun that didn’t shine

I’ll blame it on the wind and the trees

I’ll blame it on the time that was never enough

I’ll blame it on the tide and the sea

But, my heart blames it on me.

Who poured the love out?
What made this bitter doubt?
Is peace not here for me to see?
Wish I could tell you
What I am feeling
But, words won't come for me to speak

Oh, but I'll blame it on the sun
That didn't fill the sky
I'll blame it on the birds and the trees
I'll blame it on the day that ended once too soon
I'll blame it on the nights that could not be
But my heart blames it on me