VERNAL EQUINOX

BY TRACY SCHLAPP

My grandmother had two canvas lounging chairs in her backyard that she pulled out from under the trees for an afternoon sun bath. First she slathered her legs in Bain de Soleil suntan lotion — note: not sunscreen — and then, she suggested a game to keep my busy little body contained while she soaked up the heat and humidity of a midwestern summer. The black iron chair frames had two resting positions, upright or fully reclined; however, if you leaned back ever so carefully, you could find a balancing point and hover. There was an Oreo for me if I stayed balanced on that chair while she rested her eyes behind those big round sunglasses. I liked the challenge, the micro-adjustments of my weight to keep afloat. I would balance listening to her stories, staying still long enough to earn my reward.

This last chunk of writing for Issue 5 The Natural World is Everywhere was sorted before Vernal Equinox — earth’s very own light/dark balancing act that officially announces spring for the northern hemisphere. It is an act of great effort to hold light and dark equally. The hunkering down of winter cloud cover in the Northwest makes short days seem even shorter. We often lament the dark days. This week Le’Var Howard wrote a moving defense of darkness, which we will publish later this year:
The dark is no isolation from life. You’re still breathing. The dark is where you truly learn to be present with yourself. A new you must emerge.
Le’Var reminds us of our power as we draw down in the quiet and become, as he says, a student of darkness. It is an active rest, like the balancing act of remaining still enough in Grandma’s backyard.

I’ve paired the writing this week to make interesting conjunctions. Carolyn Stickley’s internal illumination plays against Dustin Smith’s tumble through darkness to find and hold onto the details of his loved one. Jai and Yeyin Chin sit on opposite sides of the room at OSP, but each week they work together to move our conversations down new and interesting avenues. Chris Ainsley and Amanda Gorman write themselves out of prison and into a beautiful landscape.

The Illumination of Light Running Through the Rainbow by Carolyn Stickley
A rainbow is an arc of prismatic colors and hues in the heavens. All colors are in harmony in nature and give us illusory hope. Is there a pot at the end of the rainbow and is it shiny white? Perhaps that is where the light turns on bright and you can find happiness. Nothing can dim the light that shines from within.

Down the Rabbit Hole by Dustin Smith
I tumble down a well of consciousness, bumping against the memories of people I used to know as I sink endlessly into the darkness.

…

In Pursuit of the Perfect Bomb by Jai
Loneliness and neglect in common, he accepted, learning love
They learned to trust, then they learned to fly

In Portland Today by Yeyin Chin
There is not a single, actual Timberwolf in sight, but there are geese in Goose Hollow when the geese are in season and feeling fashionable enough to override the rain

…

I Could Have Walked Away by Amanda Gorman
as the perennial flowers finally push
through the soil
and touch the garden with the grace of
green
spring forward is pushed back by the
dusting of snow

Surf & Trees by Chris Ainsworth
Cool mist hangs in the air as the evening sun falls
Dune grass cutting at skin, following the ocean’s calls

…

And finally, I think of my grandmother each time I visit Carolyn Stickley at Coffee Creek. I recognize my grandmother’s spark in her eye and their shared determination to age with flair.

Monkey See, Monkey Do by Carolyn Stickley
In this workshop we attempt to make sense of the past and imagine the future. It’s the natural order that created us.

I’ve reached my grandmother’s age when she cared for me. I find that I too crave that afternoon sunbath in the midafternoon when my eyes become droopy in front of the computer screen. I skip the Bain de Soleil and just stretch out on the back deck and let the sun warm me through my clothes. When I was balancing next to her, Grandma told me stories about growing up at Mount Rainier. I remember looking at her veiny hands resting on the arm rest and imagined them young and tan like the color of her buckskin horse. As I balance the memories between my energetic youth and my ownaging hands, I take a comfort in the moments when I find the light in the dark behind my closed eyes. | TDS