MAGAmerica engulfing more and more of the country just as the carbon-filled-sky-fueled heat engulfed me just now in my own back yard trying to focus on the daylilies daylillying and tomato vines and basil and cukes and squashes and my good dogs chasing each other beneath the blueberries, one dashing into the greenery then popping out past the compost, the other in hot pursuit—so much beauty, so many good things that steady me amidst the onslaught of weather, politics.
The MAGA-lomaniac in chief’s red, bloodied ear, raised fist. Another all-red-on-the-radar, tornado-filled storm bearing down. How to poise for these storms?
I ride my bike in the early morning, pre-terrible-heat of another day of too-hot-heat, too-bad-to-breathe air, lost in the whir of gear noise and tire-against-road hum, 10, 15, 20 miles, until the real heat begins, the road soaking it up, rebounding it hotter-still up against me when I shift down and slow on the hills.
I make it to a long flat and spin along and lose myself in the good work of my body, the pull of lungs, the push of legs.
But I can’t outride the news, the storm fronts edging eastward.
I glide up my long drive and step off my bike and hang up my gear and head for a cool shower, clean, dry clothes, the comforting glow of my computer screen, resisting a look at the news, to tap my phone to life, just wanting to lose myself in a wash of words, imagined worlds, celebrations of lily-pad-covered Adirondack ponds, the feel of my small sail on my small boat pulling me along, me leaning far out to keep her from tipping, riding those strong winds and curling, white-capped waves.
Last week, I returned from a long, hot walk at the edge of hundreds of thousands of acres of Adirondack land the news will never reach with a few good mushrooms for my lunch omelette, some stunning orange-yellow chantrelles, the rare, blue-staining bolete whose white, warty surface bruises blue at the slightest touch, its insides going all deep blue-violet after the knife has sliced through, stepped out of my sweaty clothes and into a swimsuit and rushed down the trail to the lakeshore, waded out knee deep and without pausing plunged into the intensely-cool-smooth-gliding-density of a clean Adirondack lake.
I emerged, eyes lake level, holding steady, looking to the blue haze of distant mountains, my body temperature dropping, my head clearing, and I could almost hear the slow drawl of Sam Elliot proclaiming, sardonically, “the Dude abides.”
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Thank you for this. I was transported to the Adirondacks, biking, seeking/smelling mushrooms. Abide, Dude. Write more of these!
This one is so good! The rhythm of cascading words has the funk and feel of free jazz 👏👏 You have gifted the reader with hard truths, but also with a message to find beauty all around us and gather strength from it moving forward.