Signs of spring

It snows. A heavy fat white wet spring snow.  The next day the storm clears, clouds are blown away, and so am I.  We are slammed with the blinding, beautiful intensity of the mountain painted bright white fresh wash and that crazy blue unreal high sky of these Colorado mountains pinned up over head and I forgot how tired my cheeks get from squinting because I refuse to sport sunglasses as I want to feel it all, soak it all in every last pore, make the most of it and not have the world before me subdued by some tinted plastic barriers before my eyes.  I know, not so smart, perhaps, but for today, whatever, it just feels good and sometimes feeling good is a plenty enough motivator.  To hell with practicality.

Ah, but I am practical.  Sometimes.  I try to balance it.  Passion usually wins out, but practicality keeps a strong hold.  Things like doing chores (caring for the animals is the grounding of my flighty soul), stirring up breakfast on the old wood cook stove, cleaning house, and… making a living.

Dang, what’s with those practical responsibilities?

Oh come on, how long do you think the honeymoon could last?   The haze lifts.  Reality sets in.  Work.  Money.  Bills.  Life.  It is easy to enter one’s own simple dream world, but impossible and impractical to remain there.

My dreams seem at war with practicality.   Why can’t I, I ask anyone who will listen, and on most days that doesn’t usually entail more than the ever willing to listen dog, attentive with his perked ears and head cocked sidesways.  Why can’t I take care of my house and homestead, then settle in to write for the rest of the morning, and work on the mountain or build something new in the afternoon and not have to worry about food on our table and fuel in our truck and hay for the horses?  Well, I do have to worry. The pressures of the outside world seep in. And the stresses of realizing our truck isn’t getting any younger and neither are we and mechanics and doctors and vets aren’t free, and credit card bills really do have to be paid, and if one actually pays them on time it’s a little less painful in theory. And in theory we’d have money to allow us to do that. But in reality…

How does one balance dream and desire with day to day? Without giving up.  Because that is simply not an option.  Living a dream, if that’s what you call the way that I live, is what I’ll continue to do. And if I have to go down, damn it, I’m going down kicking.

But somehow, I’ll betcha, I’ll find a way.