Fall Frolicking and Acorns

Today is one of the most gorgeous days I have ever experienced. As I left my apartment today, I noted that it was the brightest and crispest of mornings. It was like stepping out of a particularly difficult exam into the free air and realizing everything is behind you and nothing could be more beautiful than the future.

The breeze blew in just the right way so that the cool air gave me chills of excitement for the season to come. Walking down the sidewalk to the bus stop, the anticipation of new experiences and adventures aroused my attitude higher than it had been in days. The sunshine was piercing, yet it relaxed me as the constant beams coved me in a comfortable clarity of mind. After all of the rain and puddles, the bright light was a reassuring reminder of consistent goodness. I could not believe anyone could remain indoors. I had to force myself to go to class because all I wanted to do was run around and do cartwheels across the quad.

The weeks have begun when light jackets become the only barrier between you and the cold atmosphere. I love this part of the year because shedding that light jacket and exposing your short sleeves to the elements is like a purposeful and edgy declaration of freedom. Though you shiver without the hugging layer next to your skin, the cool air in your lungs empowers your soul and cleanses your ambitions.

Pictures cross my mind of the mountains in the fall. I close my eyes and imagine Moonshine, the mountain home where I spent many childhood vacations. As I open my eyes again, the metal frame of the bus stop returns and I hear the rushing of busy cars. But my mind is open, and in my head’s vision the house stands before me like a beacon of liberation.

Leaves both twirl through the air and lay moist on the ground. Rich evergreens cover the landscape, tinted blue by dew drops. The smell of burning wood billows from the valley below. It seeps through the woods and pools around me, the aroma burrowing into the fabric of my clothes as I hike up the gravel drive. The crunching of the rocks beneath my shoes is the only sound I make as my feet swivel and sink over the changing terrain. I notice each spec of dirt, moss and beetle which crosses my path. The defined colors of resilience and change sparkle from the ground to the sky. The world is still and silent, but I can still feel the resonance of life around me. It is alive with time and spirit, with history and process- the natural processes of the earth which created the exact and unique portrait before me. Every rock, stick and stone is deliberate and valid in its existence.

I stop. Crouching, I observe the top of a fallen acorn. The brown bowl is cocked to one side, the inner concentric rings facing up and over my left shoulder, as if it is staring up at a world bigger than itself, waiting to receive its next order. It rests on its edge because the bulbous tip which emerges from the top is still attached to a tiny branch, which has embedded itself in the mud. The bottom right corner of the cap is chipped with a triangular hole, like the removal of a slice of pizza. The wound represents an attack of an unknown stressor which has stolen a component of the top’s integrity. I then think of the immeasurable number of actions and occurrences that led up to the particular positioning of this one minute acorn top.

I suddenly feel small and insignificant. And yet, I feel powerful for having discovered the privilege I have been given in witnessing this special and unique moment in time. I may be just a small part of the bigger picture, but without my life and experiences, my influence on my environment, the picture would not be the same. The entire essence would be different. And like a unique grouping of alleles, a completely separate world would exist.

Chocolate Kisses

So last night I was eating chocolates and doing crossword puzzles with my aunt when I thought about how so many of my aunt's mannerisms remind me of little things my Mom used to do, things I had not even thought of in years. You know it was just simple stuff, like the way her hands moved- things you never would have thought are important. It got me thinking about how little quirks and unconscious gestures are what personify someone as who they are in your memory. I think it is important to appreciate these little characteristics because you will never find them anywhere else.

As I reached to unwrap my Hershey’s kiss, I wondered how many times I had entered into this simple overlooked routine. I peeled the foil back to reveal a little hint of brown goodness. Then, grasping the other side of the foil with the little message tag, I removed the foil completely, leaving that distinct circle outline, where the candy was so recently protected by silver lining. The kiss now lay naked in my hand. As always, I bit off the pointy tip, so that the kiss could fit easily on my tongue without stabbing the roof of my mouth. Ideal consumption! As I let the kiss melt in my mouth I smiled, satisfied by the joy of life’s simple pleasures. I wondered whether it would be little traditions such as this one that I would pass on to my children. Mere mimicking that would unknowingly carry a little bit of myself into their lives: an unspoken legacy.

Forgiveness?

Eve Carson.

Those two words are enough to stop any UNC student in his or her tracks. For a few moments, whatever past conversation that was being had is forgotten. Newspaper articles, candle light vigils, frightening images conjured by an active imagination- they all blur before nearly misty eyes. Even today, the mention of her name makes my chest tighten and my eyes burn. The unfairness of it all is overwhelming. I feel angry and helpless. But most of all, I struggle to understand. My frustration is unfathomable.

From what I describe, you might believe Eve was a close friend of mine. The truth is that we never met.

It is a common occurrence now that upon meeting someone new and telling them where I attend school, one of the first questions asked is "did you know that girl?" Though these people I meet are only curious, sympathetic even, I can see the question carries very little weight for them. The slight pause before my response always reveals this difference. While they are able to stare back, waiting patiently for a response that they hope will stimulate typical day to day conversation, I sit on the other side mustering the strength to separate myself from the burden the question has placed in the pit of my stomach. After allowing myself to say her name, it is then difficult for me to say no, I did not know her, because I still feel so close to her. How can I feel close to someone I never met? I wish I could explain it to you. But when I try to describe the atmosphere of our campus in the aftermath, how that single tragic event shook our entire school, my attempts fall far short of reality. It is interesting how such a tragedy can bond people together.

How can I forgive those who committed these unspeakable crimes? They should not have even been out on the streets. So who's fault is it really? But hate, hate is a powerful thing. When talking with one man about the whole situation, his response was "Well if you didn't belive in capital punishment before, then now..." I wasn't sure how to respond to this comment. I am never comfortable with the idea of taking a life in any form. I do not feel like that is choice I, or any other human has been given the privledge to make. However, at that moment, I did, I hated them and I wanted them to "get what they deserved".

I know I have to let it go. Letting the anger build will never solve anything. For now, I just try to do what I can to try to immitate, in my own small part, the vast and wonderful influence Eve had on the people and world around her. Though she had fewer years than many, I know Eve led a full life, and touched more people than i can count. I am proof of this statement; Eve has already made me a better person. I believe that is how I feel close to her. Eve is in my actions, and I will never forget how she opened my eyes to living every day as if it were my last. That is how I can battle this injustice- not with hate, but with life.

Seeking Clarity

Racking Focus is a filming method which alters the attention of the viewer by changing the focus from a far object to a close object (or vice versa). I chose this name because I believe it embodies one of my own philosophies: that one must "shift the picture" when clarity seems to be out of reach.

Certainty and understanding can be as elusive and impossible to grasp as the mist which blankets the hills along the San Andreas Fault. You drive into the fog, not knowing you are in the thick of it until you try to see something far in the distance. The veil, which is invisible up close, hinders your view of what is beyond.

Lately, I have felt myself surrounded by a constant fog. So now, I seek clarity. Clarity in my emotions, relationships, ambitions. Clarity in this war, this planet, this lifetime.

My Aunt Gwynne gave me some advice. And since she is my Mother's sister, she is probably the closest I will ever get to talking with my own mother again, something I desperately wish were possible. Anyway, Aunt G suggested that since writing is something I enjoy, and one of the few things I am certain I want to continue to do, that I should write everyday.

So per her request, I plan to use this blog to journal my experiences. I want to describe each of them exactly as in the light that I see them. The brilliant hues. The dark shadows. Then, I will work to alter, shift and understand my perspectives in hopes of bringing my goals and myself back into focus.

Alrighty. Rack 'em.