Skip to main content

Cannon Beach

Sharp gusts of wind tugged at the joints of her arms as if they wanted to pull her into the sky, up and away from the Oregon shore where she stood. The clouds were all shades of gray, ranging from pure white to angry, thunderclap dark. Her kite was a lonely patch of bright against the dark of sky, reflecting a bit of light from somewhere unknown as it was pulled here and there in the blustery fall.

The dark sand was cold and firm against her bare toes, and as a bigger gust inflated the u-shaped patch of fabric, she dug deep into her spot, fixing herself to the ground as the kite pulled her arms further up to the sky. For a moment, she felt like a tree, her toe-roots strongly anchoring her to the earth, and her branch-arms reaching upwards, straining away from her body and its center.

It was the kind of kite with two long strings and two yellow plastic handles, the model that professional tricksters can guide into figure-eights and impressive loops. She had tried these tricks at the beginning of the summer, when the kite was new, but it only ended up in a tangled mess crashed into the sand. It took her a long time to untie the knotted strings, and the tip of the kite’s nose was pushed slightly off-center by the impact. Worried that she would wreck her fragile new joy, she decided to stick to a simple, keep-it-in-the-air strategy.

She liked the struggle this way better anyway. It was more primal, a battle-of-the-wills game, as opposed to the finesse required for tricks. She liked to know that it was her strength put her in control. On the beach, it was her against the wind, and the choice was hers: she could stay here, rooted firmly in the sand, or she could allow the powerful gusts to drag her away somewhere up into the sky, away from the earth and its weight.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Constructivist Crap

Reading this post was like deja vu for me! I took a class just like this as an undergrad... (surprise, surprise) in the education department. I made it through that semester by taking solace in two facts: (a) I was also taking The Sociology of Education in the soc department, with a professor who actually taught the material and (b) most of us in my little liberal arts bubble wouldn't end up teachers, thus wouldn't have an opportunity to inflict such pedagogical torture on kids who needed to actually learn stuff. It would appear that Newoldschoolteacher has neither of those to help her out. God save her. The professor in my class repeatedly insisted that we were a "democratic classroom" and that she wasn't any more of an expert on the material than us. WHAT? I paid good money for that course, money that employed her to teach me. I hope that she was more expert on the material than I was! Also, when I "took responsibility for myself" and said that ...

Privilege of Being

Robert Hass Many are making love. Up above, the angels in the unshaken ether and crystal of human longing are braiding one another's hair, which is strawberry blond and the texture of cold rivers. They glance down from time to time at the awkward ecstasy-- it must look to them like featherless birds splashing in the spring puddle of a bed-- and then one woman, she is about to come, peels back the man's shut eyelids and says, look at me, and he does. Or is it the man tugging the curtain rope in that dark theater? Anyway, they do, they look at each other; two beings with evolved eyes, rapacious, startled, connected at the belly in an unbelievably sweet lubricious glue, stare at each other, and the angels are desolate. They hate it. They shudder pathetically like lithographs of Victorian beggars with perfect features and alabaster skin hawking rags in the lewd alleys of the novel. All of creation is offended by this distress. It is like the keening sound the moon makes sometimes, ...

Singing Metro Man

This morning on the Orange Line train to work, Singing Metro Man made an appearance. If you ride the Orange or the Blue Line, you may know of him...I’ve heard from other passengers that he’s been around for years, though I can only confirm the last three. He’s an elderly Asian gentleman, well-dressed, who steps onto the train right before the doors close. Once the train begins to move, he clears his throat, says a polite but insistent “Excuse me,” and begins to sing a hymn from his songbook. The effect is eerie. The silent morning train, everyone still half-asleep before their first cup of coffee. The whoosh of the tunnel. The man’s gentle, earnest voice singing a capella (he’s not half bad) about how we should trust in Jesus. As he reached his crescendo this morning, I half expected the train to explode or something—the moment just felt very... cinematic. Luckily, life is not a movie, and after the song was done, he wished us all a good day, exited the train and moved to the n...