“What do you fear, lady?” [Aragorn] asked.
“A cage,” [Éowyn] said. “To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King

Is desire all that and a bag of chips? That sort of deep, shaking, blinding, sort? Is it? I find it is distracting, and I feel a little lost. I don’t want to be lost. Sad. Longing.

I wasn’t alone. I embrace my solitude. He knew another me. And why should I feel this? Rubbish. Pure and simple hogwash.

And why am I angry? Oh, that blue.eyed.locksmith, be gone with thee.

I will keep away, stay away, far away. Stay busy. Stay free.

Cycle paths. Take long walks. Breath. Smile. Choose happiness. I know how to find it, and I won’t be blinded by that false light of his.

“I’m selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.”
― Marilyn Monroe

Talked to Crossroad.Man, and I was reminded of why I care for him, and what’s important. Reminded me what I REALLY want. And I am not talking just MAN here. Friend, really. He gives me lots of freedom. He does look out for me, and I for him. This is something I know. Can rely on. Regardless of all else. Desire, love, or whatever, he is a friend.

This is all about what is happiness, really. What makes me happy? Blue.eyed.locksmith has made me feel things. Things like desire, and something else, that is rare. I know.

Yet, he squanders it. Doesn’t water it. Just expects it to be there when he needs it.

Sorry lad, doesn’t work that way.

I’ve been wandering around in this, you know, and I became lost. I forgot. I forgot the where. Who. Now.

It’s like a documenting of an archaeological find. A letting future I know, for what it’s worth, that this is how I felt. How I was. How I coped. I can store that away, and find it there some day, maybe when that drop of memory is most precious, or needful.

We have to remind ourselves to be strong. To adjust the crown, remember who we are. For posterity.

Cliché that may be. I guess, really, that’s why I write to you.

“Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land

So, speaking of Crossroad.Man, he the other day just discovered the gnarl. Only actually been there this whole time…one and a half years, give or take. Rare and unique as it is, he missed it completely.

Em. Some… message?

Anyways, I hadn’t kept it hidden, yet woodworking man that he is, missed it. ahem. I find that amusing, for some reason.

I moved it for him. Had to. He was all horrified that I’d had it there, lying in the dirt.

I asked him, where did you think we found it? Lying 50 feet in suspended animation? Seriously. It was lying abandoned in an old woodlot; unburnable.

And it is a piece of that place. Those Highlands of Grey. Maybe it’s not meant to just be a clock or a bowl, or whatever else to please man.

It was on dirt, and so shall remain. And someday it will be again. I told him all this, as the two of us sat on my stoop in the shade of that big ol’Black Walnut.

That gnarl is a piece of all that then, of Tim, of us, of me. That Irish Lake. A part of that sad, grieving me.

So I decided I needed to move it somewhere new. Somewhere more prominent. Somewhere it can settle, become like some ancient upside down sacred thing. And maybe it is.

And I’ve become the water mistress of the garden I planted around it, as this hot, dry summer has killed off one of the new Cedars out front, a new phlox, and the ferns from the Homestead are having to be babied. But refuse to baby all. Live or die, if they survive this, they’ll be stronger for it. Let it be, I say.

But, I decided to give that Black Walnut a nice, long cool drink. I can’t give him much, but days worth? Hours? Could lengthen his magnificent life. For posterity. When he may be needful.

And, did you know Black Walnuts were rareÉ They’re not rare here. I guess out of the many trees in Ontario, Black Walnuts don’t have a lot of their natural habitat left.

The Black Walnut, along with other related species, is capable of deterring any nearby competition by exuding the chemical juglone from its roots and decaying leaves, which acts as a toxin.
[ University of Guelph | Juglans nigra ]

I like that. A rather versatile tree, highly prized for woodworking, dyes, and natural insecticide. It keeps certain things away. I really like that.

Everything I have planted has thrived, though I selected those that I knew would love the woodland embrace of its shade. Some things thrive in its toxic embrace, though others die off.

So, I suppose in truth, I know little more. Yet, I do know I will not wallow in this. I will, for posterity, and remind me to adjust my crown, remember who I came from. What I love. Who I am. I don’t need. I have enough. I’m content, and I know exactly where to find happiness… all on my own.

Funny thing is too, Mom, blue.eyed.locksmith swore up and down he had a Black Walnut in his backyard. I told him he does, but pointed at another tree. He wouldn’t believe me. I looked it up though…silly boy only has a Butternut. I kept one of its nuts, for identification, and added it to my menagerie.

For posterity.

Love,

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