Seeing Clearly

All hallows eve. The VA, Halloween 3 years ago. Cub flyers announcing flu shots whipping around the cold parking lot. Dad up on a high floor where the sky was both dull and wild. Calling Lou from there…upset or with an update…I don’t know.

Back in the sunroom again. It’s nearly 7 and there’s no distinction yet outside the window.

On my way to work yesterday, getting off the freeway and beginning the drive to the country, there was this patch of fall trees, all different colors in a row: yellow, magenta, goldenrod, rust, and it was one of those moments when you can be nearly overcome by the multitude, every little leaf colored so different, and each one either moving, falling, swirling, or waving. So this memory of one of our last family trips to Georgia comes to mind. Wish I could still say exactly how it went but it went something like this.

My mom and little brother (about 7 years old) are in back sleeping, dad driving, me keeping him company. Dad was a truck driver. He loved to drive. I do too. It was late. The song “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” comes on the radio (remember that one?) And I get inspired to ask my dad for contact lenses.

This was not something one usually did. Big purchases went through Mom. Dad was, in her words, “cheap.” He was cheap on practical matters, generous on the frivolous, or with the “good times” money. I was a vain fifteen-year-old who wouldn’t wear my glasses.

Who knows what it was – the drive or the song – the got him to say yes.

A month or so later, with my new contacts in my eyes (the hard kind they gave you back in the 70’s), I took a walk to my neighborhood park where I walked so much it was like my second home. I had this feel for the place, sort of like I do now for my woods, maybe because it was where I took my emotions for safety (even if it wasn’t always safe). And that’s what the fall leafs along the highway reminded me of – how I walked into that park that day and could not believe what I was seeing or what I’d been missing. The details! The singularity! The abundance of each thing when seen with clarity. All was crisp in a way it hadn’t been in so long. Crisp and clear, dazzling, dizzying.

I was so grateful to my dad. I was getting tears in my eyes with that gratitude, and thinking how I’d tell him about it, about my walk, and about how stunning it was, and knowing he’d appreciate it. He’d think the money (and it was a lot then), was worth it. He wouldn’t chide me that I could have seen it all along if I’d only worn my glasses. He wanted me to look pretty as much as anyone.

I get to my client’s home and he’s not there. I call the office and they suggest that I walk down to the shed. There’s several sheds, and a big barn and a boat house, a patch of roto-tilled soil as richly black as any I’ve ever seen. The ground is almost boggy with moisture, clods of dirt everywhere. Raise your eyes a moment and your foot gets snagged as if by seaweed. Swollen fruit is hidden in the tall grass, and droppings from big animals laced with corn, and along the sides, abandoned cars, and up the hill tall pines. I call out a few times and then fall silent and follow the trail around the barn and out into the field. Coming back, I leave the trail and climb the hill beneath the house, feeling as if I’m walking where no one’s walked in years. I call in to the office to report and head back a different way.

When I hear a car on the gravel drive I return to the house. I tell my companion what a lovely walk I had and how grateful I am.