'Remember the Light after the Storm' (Original Fine Art)

Sunday evening I landed, I packed and then I stepped away to close my eyes and breathe deeply.  I took a long sip of air slightly chilled with a cold front passing, warmed with early summer rays and sharp with a taste of cut grass and dust.  I have the perfect amount of quiet gratitude in my glass of joy.  

I am lost in time again; looking around at a little eclectic community framed by wild clouds and golden sunset.

And I remember… I am twenty again, twenty and cold.  I hadn't anywhere to go that night and I was afraid to be found by the one person looking.  There was no one to call and no way to call anyway.  I had snow soaked tennis shoes on, a small stash of squirreled away cash in my pockets and the sudden inexplicable belief that I would 'will' myself out of the corner I'd painted myself into.  

I remember this night like it is now; I cup my soul’s hands gently, carefully, around that night with palms full of humble recognition.  That beautiful night I huddled, shaking and shivering, in the shelter of a covered door entry at a closed grocery store. I remember a fire born in darkness and determination.  The heat of it burned my heart, my ribs - the inner flames torched my icy fingers -I would get out of this mess.

I closed my eyes at that moment on that night and I pictured what this would mean, how it would taste, what I would be able to do.  I pictured the road trip Dee and I promised each other, I pictured my identity,  I took my fears of water, of heights, of friendship, of roots and I held them to this fire and watched them burn.  For hours, alone and un-found, until early dawn, I concentrated on this vision.  

I had realized one of my truths, (I have a few now), and this one is a big one.  Maybe an obvious one but that’s the thing about being young- we all start out not knowing anything. 

Truth#4:  We forget that both happiness and storms will come and go and pass.  Again and again. Happiness is such a fleeting, painfully fragile, delicate and wondrous thing. And we forget, as we bask in it's luminous glow, our arms stretched out and up to the welcoming sky, that it will come and go and pass.

Storms, so wild, wicked and dark, as our ship is sinking, ropes lashing in the wind and unsecured sails perilously unfolding; we despair and forget. We forget it will pass. That the heavy suffocating rain will lessen, the clouds will break and the moon will return with stars to guide the way.  

Here is the point; Storms will come all on their own.  Sometimes we may mistakenly steer ourselves into them, sometimes we choose a course that lengthens the duration we ride through them -but storms will come. 

Happiness, while it may seem to 'just happen', happiness is always a choice.  Happiness is in our heads.  Sometimes it is a hard choice, one reached for with grasping hands blinded by pain, loss, or most terribly of all, with regret. 

Happiness was the moment I believed, that night and the nights after, with all I wanted to be; I believed I could and I would figure out how to get out of that situation. And every happiness since then leaves my mortal beating heart shaking with thankfulness to the person inside me trying her best, the man standing beside me and all the people around me reaching out with giving hands.

Remember the light after the storm Reader.  Even if that is all you can do as you hang on to the wheel of your ship, nose into the wind, the world black and your horizon tumbling, remember the light outside of the storm.

'Remember the Light after the Storm'

16" X 20 X .75"

Original Art - Oil Pastels/ Acrylic (Sealed to protect against fading/UV)

“Let’s go for a Bike ride!”

Something the size of my face is directly in front of me on the narrow path but as I am careening capriciously at warp speed (maybe 16 mph!) in darkening twilight -There is absolutely no way I am not going to smash it.  

Happily it flutters up, just in the nick of time, to hover with me.  Its wings must be heavy; heavy enough that as they pump up and down, I feel the air next to my cheek moving.  My sweat is intravenously pouring down me as I struggle up the smooth dirt track and then I’m suddenly cooled by warm summer evening air as I spike forward and down onto the rocky downhill trail.

‘Giant Black Moth’ or ‘Bizarre Small Bird’ or possibly ‘Little Strange Bat’, whatever it is, hangs out with me for a few turns.  I think it is asking “What on earth is a human unsteadily winding by at this hour doing here??”

To answer that question…

“Let’s go for a Bike ride!”  This sentence was exclaimed around 7pm.  It is the end of another baking blue day here in the high desert mountains of Utah so we waited til nearly eight to head up to the nearby canyon. 

According to maps there is a nearby canyon bicycle trail head that runs all the way to the flight park in our neighborhood.  The game plan: Drive up, ride home and then take the second car back to retrieve the first.  

As it appears to be a mostly a downhill track, when we arrive, we go the opposite way, about half a mile.  Why? Because that is up hill and we want to make sure we get a little exercise before our easy cruise home… As we back track to the trail head, we go under the road through a tunnel.  I have a spontaneous thought, “I don’t want to be on a trail at dark, this short dark tunnel is uncomfortable.”

This trail we thought was downhill?  It begins excruciatingly steep as this skinny path is entirely uphill.  

I focus on three goals: breathing, not running into the mountain and not falling off the mountain.  My muscles, so sadly out of oxygen and strength, burn me alive until a rush of endorphins gives me a natural high.  I may be ‘older’ but my body still has the ability to kick in! Yay! I wallow in the glory of lightheaded gasps and the thrill of trying and sort of succeeding.  

Absently, I overly tighten my grip and in response my front wheel wobbles, wheedling me violently to the right.  I turn back to the path just in time before I go sliding off...again.

I grin at my handsome man, just a few yards ahead.  This courteous, much more athletic partner of mine; he is once more waiting for me to catch up.  My stubby legs peddle harder to hurry and meet him.  I ignore the screaming of my labored lungs.

I stop just behind him and we notice the arrival of twilight.

Oh… Well the view is fantastic.  The contrasts of green and gold foothills merging into glittering lights of the sprawling cities below and cradled from above by a deepening blue sky –it takes my breath away -oh no, wait, that was the last part of the hill- but IF I had a breath to take away, it would have. I'm unable to pause my gasping to drink so I slurp in a mouth full of icy water and hold it until it's warm and then choke it down.

We are three miles in, about half way.  Do we turn back?   Do we keep going?  It’s a toss-up whether either is the better choice at this point. We decide to keep going. 

A few minutes later, just in time for twilight to turn to early dark, the trail, at last, officially turns into All Downhill.  We now have the relentless hand of time and vanishing light pushing us forward too.  The situation, regardless of whether it ought to be laughable is besides the point.  We are laughing despite ourselves.

I am riding my brakes, nervously picking my slowing way past sharp sage bush while simultaneously, trying to Not Look At the extreme drop to the right - which I notice, helpful or not; it IS increasingly hard to see just how far up we are… which also means it is increasingly hard to see the trail…

“Trust the trail, trust that it’s there,” My encouraging crusader heartens.  In between breaths he continues “the bike is more stable at 15 mph then at 2 mph.”

Bugs, I suspect grasshoppers, (why grasshoppers? Well they were in the news this afternoon so I image grasshoppers, duh...), pop up, on and off of my ankles as I whip through and past. 

I giggle to myself, ‘How is it we get ourselves into these types of moments?’   

About now the ‘Giant Black Moth’ or ‘Bizarre Small Bird’ or possibly ‘Little Strange Bat’ pops up and joins me for the ride. I chuckle as I answer myself and It.

Because we are adventurers!  Not the kind that make history or world records, but the kind the somehow scoot by on the tolerant good graces of chance and a bit of our own personal tenacity. 

I follow the shadow of my sweetheart, my best friend, his back tire sliding slightly for a moment as he hit a rocky patch in front of me; both of us are squinting, straining to see the disappearing pathway.

I can’t wipe the smile off my face.