There’s a difference between everything. It’s easier to notice (pick apart) the differences, but a little harder to spend time noticing the similarities. If I haven’t anything else to dwell on, this is my latest go-to-mull: Time and space are one fabric.
That’s what I think about when i look at this iphone photo I took of my daughter sleeping a few months ago when we were traveling from here to there and back again. This is the area of Montana where people who love the landscapes in western Montana claim with dismay, “But there’s nothing to see in Eastern Montana.” I’ve never learned how to reply to that. There is so much to feel when you push through landscape like this. The landscape pushes right back through you, becoming a molten field of wheat bisected by iron tracks laid down for the railroad in the 1870s.
And if you slow down your processing unit in your head, the telephone pole will appear. And so will the street sign along a country road that says, Aqui Esta. Which happened yesterday when we were driving home from visiting my sister’s sheep farm. My daughter was maybe thinking about leaving her new puppy behind at my sister’s for a week while she travels out of the country. And my mind was dwelling on both my kids soon boarding a plane to another country and what if this was the one time a plane blows up in the sky with them both on board. How will I survive my children? Which is different than the thoughts I’ve been processing for the past many months, fighting for good health, wondering how my (adult) children will survive me if I fail in this fight. What will become?
But remember: Every river has its village. And each smart phone has its weather alerts. Once your life’s circle includes weather alerts, you become aware of more perils. Areas you’ve heretofore not heard of are in danger of flash floods now that snow-melt is meeting with spring rain. Areas you didn’t realize you knew are subject to high wind warnings with quarter-size hail predicted. And in the middle of traveling from here to there, from delivering the pup to the sheep farm and returning, from worrying about dying to realizing you are living, you drive through the Blue Creek flood zone and realize there is no flood, no high water. Just that reassuring green street sign in the rural subdivision: Aqui Esta.