I was there when winter died. The last storm dumped 10 inches of pelting snow, but spring just sucked it up like a newly arrived traveler looking for a drink. In the aftermath, you could smell Mom Nature’s green breath touched with the tang of tulips running late for Easter. That earthy smell is like an alarm clock, ticking off the rise in temperature until the dewy eyes of newborns flash awake in hollows under the roots of trees and winged things take their first flights from nests in their crowns. But I attended winter’s funeral wearing my rock skis and had one more slushy slide all decked out in short sleeves. And I was glad I went, because I met a small forest of happy mourners dressed in white and standing tall.
Birches in the snow
are such compelling studies in black and white.
Like x-rays. Starkly bright,
their trunks rise straight and true as if they are so many backbones trying
politely not to crowd each other. This standing-at-attention
seems to fit militarily with the horizontal chevrons that scar their bark where
the skin split in the act of growing.
You can read a birch by their scars the same as you read people aging
through life’s seasons. But their
natural brightness blending into the snow says something more to me, as if they
have transcended the dark moments of their lives and become radiant angels
filled with light and hope.
Surround yourself with birches in a snowstorm and you will be energized and inspired. For me, they are winter’s rainbow done in white, a promise of return. And the purity of that white echoes the best things in my life: a first word on a fresh page, she who lives rent-free in the silver blaze of my soul, and winter itself. It was a good omen, those birches at winter’s funeral. A fitting celebration, SRO. Whatever the colors of your life, I hope they dazzle your days and ignite your nights with neon passion.
So many emails lauded last month’s photos/video from my Heidi-ho (Idaho) mountain madness journey that I’m happy to oblige with a few more. Below are: #1 “when the deep purple falls”; #2 never let a slope throw snowballs at you; #3 “duck lips,” as a friend called me; #4 the creek that couldn’t make up its mind which way to go; #5 Mountain Man Bruce his very own self; #6-7 couple of perspective shots; #8-9 hiking Elm Creek w/Mickey; #10-11 Billy’s Bridge & Cathedral Pines; #12 Millie and Shawnee, 2 horses on Bruce’s ranch who made the cover of Idaho Magazine this month.
My May column over on StorytellersUnplugged takes on fear of failure and how it shapes our lives. If there is a fork in the road, how you choose to handle fear of failure is it. Give it a read if you’d like some motivational thoughts on the subject. Here’s the link to WHAT IF...
http://storytellersunplugged.com/thomassullivan/2014/05/15/thomas-sullivan-if-only/#respond
I feel bad about not responding more fully to emails. So much of what you share and ask is about relationships, and your candor deserves better from me. Will you let me off the hook a little if I generalize by saying, no, nothing has fundamentally changed in my personal life? I would still write today everything I’ve written previously on that subject. As I once tweeted, “Guess I'm a miser with my emotions, but when I spend them, they are non-refundable.” Which is not to say that the externals don’t have an impact. The world commits its own attritions.
Something that surprises me about life – something I never thought about until just recently – is that being free gets easier. It never occurred to me that it wasn’t easy in the first place. But lately I’ve pondered the fact that ties from the past and the desire to share are pulling me in the opposite direction, and that I need to re-learn the futility of that for someone like me. Sometimes you have it right in the beginning, and if my ethos isn’t transferable, I have to remember that limitation. I know that sounds cynical, but it’s quite the opposite. Romantic realism and romantic idealism are the same thing to me, and the only way I can preserve that is to expect nothing and accept everything – something Anthony Hopkins once said. My nightly drives with the radio playing softly and the silver moon sailing ever onward are when I think about it the most. There is something in the vastness of midnight blue space that makes the magic tingle again and the newness of dawns flow in my veins. Freedom is sweet with anticipation, and that comes so easily to me now. You have to recognize that the past is safely preserved and that the desire to share is part of the excitement of tomorrow.
Thomas "Sully" Sullivan
You can see all my books in any format here on my webpage or follow me on Facebook: http://www.thomassullivanauthor.com
