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A Day of Thunder |
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by Ray Purcell |
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We had decided to give the day to each other, Lisa and I.� The day began slowly, awakening in drowsy fashion, reluctant to give up the indulgence of the night.� Mornings are like that when the day is uncertain. |
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Lizzy, our puppy, is seldom if ever uncertain.� She confidently jumped into the back of the truck.� I envy her unexpectant and certain joy.� The three of us headed north on Highway 68 toward Ducor.� I've made this trip countless times before, but never just Lisa and I.� I'm not certain why this should make a difference but this time I really experienced it. |
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The valley was tired from the summer and dry from the heat.� Hayfields well past having been mowed kept golden stubble and the rich brown soil shown through.� Still there was a kind of vibrance in the senescence of these fields.� As for me, I am happy to be, just be.� Contentment in the moment is so rare and unfamiliar, and all the more sweet. |
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Some people were cleaning out front of the Fountain Springs roadhouse so we pulled over at the fire station to let Lizzy out.� Lizzy may be a puppy but she's very enthusiastic which makes her seem bigger sometimes.� It's warm and the air is still, there is the sound of morning work beginning at the station.� Lizzy seems more interested in the smell of bacon frying in the barracks; so am I. |
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We continue on our way and Valley Oaks pass us along branch to bough until we get to California Hot Springs and we stop again.� The pool is noisy with swimmers,and people are still arriving.� If it had been later in the day we?d have had an ice cream.� I marvel that people have been playing here since the last Fin de Ceicle.� There's a simplicity in this that I try hard not to over think, but it is comforting. |
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Somewhere on the way up to Parker Pass the earth tones of the oak woodland gives away to greens and blue and the air cools.� The impressionism of the valley yields to the realist-mountains.� I don't remember what Lisa and I talked about but I recall the scense of her being close. |
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We reach the trailhead in to Freeman Creek canyon and sit on the tailgate sharing a sandwich.� Lizzy would like to share one too but contents with a Milk Bone.� I notice the deep blue of Lisa's eyes framed in a gathering of gray against wisps of brown.� I feel a trembling that neither she nor Lizzy seems to notice.� As we saunter down the trail with Lizzy in the lead Lisa comments on a rumbling.� This time I don't notice. |
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| As we pass below the canopy at the feet of Sequoias the shadows deepen.� Cool air caresses us in a sigh and the sky shutters.� Lizzy looks to us as errant raindrops fall as if to say 'am I safe?'� She seems assured and romps on. |
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| Lisa and I press together over a floor made plush with years of needles and cones, and we are soothed by the splash of creek water tumbling over boulders and calming in still pools.� Eventually we are all taken by the meadow.� A cloak of dampness settles about us and we are wrapped by the mists settling among the crowns and arbors.� We draw into each other while the rhythm of our movement allows us to suffuse ourselves into this place. |
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I fall into Lisa's eyes as they have stolen the surrounding gray and become the center of the spreading monochrome.� I am enfolded and there is a low resonant rumble that we both feel.� The notes crescendo in Aeolian scale and are echoed by Hermit Spire and the Needles.� The tambour becomes ambient as we spiral together, warp and weave.� We have roiled and tumbled until the sky is rent and we fall free with the hail. |
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We have returned and Lizzy is obviously displeased as the hailstones sting her nose.� She is grateful to jump back into the truck.� We stop off at the Ponderosa to warm and dry.� As I sit I feel a subtle tremble.� Perhaps it's some residual ionization from the lightning or maybe the Irish Coffee.� Lisa seems to notice, I see it in her smile. |
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August, 2001. |
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