Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Roots

photo by Jessica Dofflemyer - all rights reserved

In Sunday morning light a solitary root stretches long across the sand.  Sun bleached and long-since functioning, it’s still heavy and unmoving.

Tracing the root to the source, I stand beneath a thriving canopy with exposed roots as tall as me.  For years the tides have come and slowly eroded the earth they held.  Salt and splash, lots of time, and now that sturdy system is laid bare.  Surely the smooth and aged wood no longer feeds it, but the tree grows on somehow.  Old-time roots are its foundation.

The thick and twisted tendrils create a natural root cave.  Jeb can climb through the web of wood just like a jungle gym.  No longer steeping in dark loam and worms, these roots now bake in sun.  Fallen leaves meet their surface.

photo by Jessica Dofflemyer - all rights reserved

A  white,  jagged specimen of corral nestles tightly in a notch just like an alter.  A reminder of the elements that shaped this situation.  Many, many moon cycles.  Water, sand and wind.

Roots remain, the tree’s still growing.  Folks with lawn chairs come for respite in their shade.  Small feet and hands explore the woven patterns.

A loving mystic once said, “When you are seeking the answer to a question, look to a tree.”

 

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Present Nectar

I’ve been reaching far into the archives of hardbound journals with these latest posts.  Revisiting the years before I was a mother (but always longing for the day) when I was just discovering the world, new friends and my heart.

Days unfold here, now.  I still live on an island.  I spend the day with my dream child conceived with just one ovary.  As postcard snapshots from my past filter in the background, I try to remember to fully soak this present in.

The crunch of gold-orange corral under bare feet in tropic water.
The Joker card that Jeb found in the exposed roots of an Ironwood tree.
The Shama bird at sunset for its bird bath by our window.
One coconut, two straws underneath the Java plum.

On our night walk down our street, we meet a neighbor – the Honeyman – who lets Jeb hold the leash of his yellow labrador.  We keep the headlamp off and use our night vision past the Plumeria trees.

“Wanna see the honey house?”

Beneath rainbow colored prayer flags, state of the art equipment extracts nectar from the comb.  Vats of golden sweetness are pumped and bottled in this house.  The Honeyman bestows us with the latest batch and two homegrown avocados.  The labrador laps Jeb’s smiling face.

Walking back down our little road for home, two different tones of crickets sound beneath the stars.  Jeb walks beside me, headlamp still pocketed.

“I have my eyes closed.  I can’t see where I’m going.  I’m just using my senses.”

I try to seal the feel of seven-year old fingers as they reach out and brush my arm.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Steeping in an Essence

This morning I look for a thread, some simple, single thing to share.  But all are snippets.

Fresh sheets on the bed.
Jeb’s first sunflower bloom at sunrise.
Anais Nin and Henry Miller.
Archival storage boxes.
The Paris Writer’s Workshop.
Fresh-cut canvases and thick, white oil paint.
Art’s essence and time travel.
Is the time machine our heart?

The grainy picture of that distant, remote island.  Ten years before my digital camera.

photo by Jessica Dofflemyer - all rights reserved

I lived in that place.  Among swans that floated on ice blue waters.  A street called Morningside along a waterfall to the sea.  Purple starfish clung to ocean bottoms while Bald Eagles’ mated,  free falling from the sky.  Thick green moss on ancient tree trunks were velvet thrones in a seaside forest.  And then there was the love.

Full French in rolling sweetness. Je t’aime in loving arms.

In the fairy land we weren’t afraid to take our hearts and just pull them from our bodies.  Hold them in our hands beneath the stars.  Gaze into each other’s eyes and seek there freely.  Fumble through discovery.  Lay down in the leaves.  Wonder at connection.  Trust in the magic all around.