Saturday, July 5, 2008

Evening of July 5th.

The sunset tonight was particularly beautiful. There were deep pinks, lavenders, purples and greens that held the promise of another great storm. All of these colors caught my eye and held my gaze westward as the sun was setting and the weather gathered around the mountain ranges that surround me.

The clouds were white, huge, deep, angry and filled with water. You could see it all buried deep in the layers. There is a peacefulness that claims you when you know that a storm is coming. The air gets heavy, a dampness enfolds you and even the wildlife seems to know to settle in. The silence right before a storm is such a beautiful thing. I love to sit and listen for the monsoon to approach form the distance.

I watched my D-Back’s continue their struggle as I continue root for them and the Chicago White Sox. The Back’s have moments of brilliance. 2 nights ago they got 6 runs in the bottom of the 9th inning with out getting a single out to come back to win the game. Then the next night they struggled to make those timely hits that they need. They will find their way. I have full confidence in that.

I watched a portion of the Tour de France this morning. For the past 7 years I have been a devoted watcher of the Tour. With all of the doping scandals that have plagued the sport for the past 3 years I struggle to find a team or a rider that can capture my imagination. One of my favorite times of watching the Tour was the first summer I was living in Pacific Grove. I would rise at 5am, drink coffee and witness each sunrise over the Monterey Bay and watch Lance Armstrong destroy all of the competition. That was the year that Lance was dating Sheryl Crow and she rode up L’Alpe-d’Huez. (The hardest climb ever!) Lance said the Sheryl was ‘”Nails”, I just remember thinking what an amazing compliment. I have wanted someone to call me NAILS ever since.

I sit on my back patio, listen to the rain as it falls on the adobe bricks in my back yard and type this entry. Rain on adobe is such an interesting sound; even in its lively pattering there is a deadening thud in its cadence. The thunder is far in the distance and the lightning is deep behind the clouds, illuminating the sky with each distant flash. The fronts come in waves that you can hear as it approaches from the distance. The scent of a desert storm, there is nothing else like it. I wish there was a way for me to share this with you. The sweet earthy aroma fills my soul with each deep and cleansing breath I take.

Shame on the soul that refuses to understand the poetry of the world that surrounds them and pity that same soul that refuses to understand the power it contains. Take pity for that soul that cannot sit in peaceful silence and take in every nuance that exists in each breath of the earth. There are those prophets that dispense rose-colored glasses and pretend to understand. They are forced to wear these glasses themselves because they really cannot see in a true light and true beauty of what surrounds us. They have pretty words that are hollow in meaning and have no heart. These are the souls that cannot tell you the graceful pattern that a cats fur has around its eyes and muzzle. The way the fur turns this way and that and how it would not be quite as be perfect if it was arranged in any other pattern. This is the false prophet that mimics all the others, praises, and yet cannot really see the true meaning to anything.

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