Thursday, May 1, 2008

Dreaming of Gratitude by Kat Magendie

In my dream I hovered over the mountains, and I was like the mists. Below I saw the wolf panting as she ran for the joy of it, for the stretching out of her limbs that she'd kept folded in hiding. I watched her sniff the ground, then the sky, and off she ran again, back to her hiding place. And over there, look, there is the mouse trembling with relief, undetected, safe, his tiny nose quivering. He lives another time of his life! There is smoke rising from the old house in the valley. Very old Mr is up early, feeding wood to the fire so Very Old Mrs will be warm when she arises, and he has the coffee brewing, that dark rich smell lifting the hair on his arms in his pleasure, and Mrs will return his kind with her kind, she will take three eggs from the ice-box and scramble them with a little milk and a little salt and pepper, she will toast the bread lightly, and she will place their breakfast on the scarred kitchen table, and Mr will pour two cups of coffee, and they will sit across from each other with no words, only the sounds of eating and sipping, and the smoke rises from the chimney and I see it and I see them and their entire lives before, but their lives after is an incredible mystery.

And I drift and wait, and I do not know what I am waiting for—

—until the sun breaks through the clouds, and the fingerling rays touch here, and there, and I rush to stand in one of the rays, but the sun falls back into the clouds before I can get to my spot, and I hear laughter. I cock my head and listen and I hear the creek, and I hear the cardinal's cry, and I hear the rustling of the squirrels, and I hear the branches saw together, sawing a song of nature, oh the symphony of nature fills me with gratitude. Inside my log house are many things I love. Outside my log house are many things I love. Inside my log house are many things I own. Outside my log house I own nothing. Right now I am thinking of you, and right now, as you read this, you have knowledge of me. Isn't that incredible? Just by writing my words I have an awareness of You, and You, just by reading my words, have an awareness of me. See the power of imagination and language? The power of the word? Thank you for reading my words; I am grateful for You, and for dreams that open up the world of imagination and awe.

6 comments:

Barbara Quinn said...

Thanks for sharing your lovely dream!It's good to be part of your rich world through your words.

Angie Ledbetter said...

Beautiful! I hope you saw your old self and your mister's...way off into the future...enjoying everything inside and outside your warm nest. ;)

Anonymous said...

Very powerful. It is amazing what the mind can do. You can really smell the wood smoke and coffee brewing.
Oren

Kathryn Magendie said...

Thank you, Oren *smiling*

Mary Ann said...

Kat,
I am grateful that you are apparently channeling Walt Whitman, for like him, you make us all one-past, present, future. You are thinking of us as we are thinking of you, and your words and your dream. We are in your dream gliding with you, laughing down at Very Old Mr. and Very Old Mrs. just b/c they find such joy in a hot coffee breakfast. Just b/c they show love by eating morning eggs together, no need for words. Just b/c you lead me over your log home, and I see you! and Good Man!
and both beautiful Dogs!

How do you know that while you are looking backward at me, I'm not looking forward to you, asked Whitman. And Kat.

Dream writing. Thanks for the ride.

Love,
MA

I am so grateful for your writing, for you

Kathryn Magendie said...

MA - even your comments are poetry.

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