Leelanau County

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The fox , while Odin sleeps , stands watching on the northern hill that leads to Empire and where everywhere else leads to Cemetary Road . In the upper hemisphere , appearing as a vault , the falcon from Jacks future is seen soaring its freedom , the robin , it’s red breast symbolic of a dawning sun , still ages behind . The sky , a mystic realm , landscapes of afterwards poignant to these flying creatures of the blue . The return of earth is on its way .

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The room his ex-wife lived in still has a thin line of light from the cracked window where rain drips the color blood from the small painting still wet from the dampness on the sill . Jack stands drinking cups and more cups of coffee , a pool of thirst that no one knows how deep it goes . ” You can always come back home ” spoken twenty years ago .

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The return of new love is on its way this year of 2014 . Jack is a solitary man , practical , indepentent , lyrical with music in his body . Francis had suddenly come by with her just bought old Volkswagen Bus and he thought of her , out on her own , always off to a different place . Could he , could he really think of offering her a practical arrangement , like the one Sting sings about in that song he can’t seem to get out of his mind with dreams of her interrupting his secrets , thoughts swelling and forever coasting . Did he dare … no , she was already on her way … soon going all the way to Bulgaria on the last ship . But what if she said , yes , yes to an arrangement with time to his solitary life – ” a shoulder to lean on and one roof over their heads ” ? But she probably didn’t have any reason to consider that . A good horseman never needs to use a rope for a fleeing horse to follow or return . . . this he knew for certain . She was chasing her inner light , he honored that even though longing to put his bare hands on her face made his heart weak . They could better be friends , faraway friends and he would look for her if and when she returned . He would ask nothing other than to hear her funny laugh . He sensed her shy nervousness and didn’t want to frighten her away . . . a coupling of moon and sky , of loneliness and isolation , of Jack and the orange fox watching .

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The day Francis went to first grade in the big city , Jack was not quite two , sitting in his high chair in the farm kitchen on a ranch in the north country , a father placing his own cowboy hat on his little sons blond head , feeding him with a copper spoon . Once , years later as teenagers , they actually passed eachother down a dirt road each going in different directions , when Francis was at her families summer cottage at Glen Lake where Jack and his brothers liked to take cars and girls to Lookout Hill . At 19 she was a billowy silhouette wearing soft suede and florals , fringe , lace up boots , swirl print pants with a paisley pattern bag . The birds all chirped madly about their passing and many eggs were laid that day to hatch wonder and joy into the future when Jack was shown the white ring around the eye of one of these robins descendants . But at 16 , epic love was not on Jacks mind . He rode his horses bare back , went to the Cherryside Drive-in Movies , did daily chores for his sweet widowed mother and tried to tan a Bison hide with the brains of the mighty beast . He didn’t know yet how to plant flower seeds with his mind and didn’t know if it was really true that the island of Lake Dubonnet , near Interlochen , really floated wherever the wind blew it . He had yet to graduate High School and join the Navy , follow the rodeo circuit to Oklahoma and Colorado , play the mandolin , travel by truck cross-country , build his own house , go to Key West , sew bands of feathers for his western hat , bake a fruit pie and notice that the knots in the wood in his ceiling looked like the faces of baby seals . But someday this young man who he was and the older man he would become, passed eachother on Cemetary Road where Francis would join them , a symphony in their cells , and say , ” Are we going “?

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” Embracing forever ” , the second of those peregrine falcons flew from Jacks roof where underneath Jack and Francis had fallen out of their bed still tangled in the sheets and the Falcons words were heard by all the earthly creatures , ” because the self that you are was built for eternity by God . He held nothing back , not even himself . He made no mistakes “. . . . . .

Quote from dear Michael at Embracing Forever … expressions of an authentic Self … ” A Course in Miracles ” .

35 thoughts on “Leelanau County

  1. Meg, I’m awe-struck by your decriptive story. I’m right there in every scene! The remarkable photos add so much visual energy to the story’s flow. Love this, and look forward to more. Christine

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  2. Did the fleeing horse find her inner light after arriving in Bulgaria I wonder, and what were the circumstances if she did? A moment, a collection of moments, or the slow steeping in a culture? Perhaps that is another story, another tale to be told during what I now think of as Meg-time, and for which I remain ever grateful.

    “The sky, a mystic realm, landscapes of afterwards” A magical description Meg.

    H ❀

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    • Hariod ! How did you get ahead of me ??? …you will hear more of Bulgaria , what happened and why very soon ….and ” meg-time ” well , you make me laugh a funny laugh ! Seriously though , thank you dear friend for always joining me on this journey , so rich with beauty and connection and always inspiring me to be mindful and to ” keep going ” … Love xxxmeg

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    • Aquileana dear , thank you … I’ve been intrigued by your site and the history of the mythical … You inspired my mention of Odin in the opening sentence so your kind comment truly matters …sending love and gratefulness xxxmeg

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  3. A relationship steeped in a long history. How wonderful is that. Practical or not, this arrangement seems to be preordained. Your wording is magical, as always, Meg. On another note, lovely song that I didn’t know from Sting. But the body language ? The crossed arms ? Interesting. Van

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  4. Once again, Meg, you reveal the way that moments in our lives are doorways to one another. It’s like the analogy David Bohm used to explain hidden variables in quantum mechanics, which I’ll recall incorrectly and explain poorly, but was essentially related to a drop of ink placed into a cylinder of oil. Now imagine the outer sleeve is rotated, and the oil drop is dragged into a line, mixed throughout. There is some type of order to it, some hidden parameter that can’t be explained when you look at the end result. But you could imagine in a world without friction or entropy, you could spin the other way and recover the drop of ink. Although the droplet became a seeming random thread, a line of points that may have even wrapped around one another revolutions apart, there was always a wholeness present…

    I have a memory of being in the third grade, and wondering what it would be like to live in Maine and have a wife with brown hair. I thought Boston was south of New York at the time… πŸ™‚ Now I live in Maine with a wife with brown hair… I remembered this memory sometime shortly after we met. These moments in our lives are truly doorways… Doorways to inexplicable beauty…

    Love
    Michael

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    • Forgive me for jumping in here πŸ™‚ I have been feeling lately so strongly how these passing thoughts that then become reality could be many things: a wish that we can experience, a glimpse into the future, a jump to an alternative time-line, power steering… πŸ™‚ The gap between the thought and the playing out at times is so quick that I take care in how the mind doth go…(now back to your regularly scheduled comment thread:)

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    • Michael , …I love that you shared your memory from the third grade and the doorway it opened , evoking a beautiful love …and the analogy , well , a pure wonder that I really had to ponder . And I didn’t know you lived in the States …for some reason I thought you lived in England , near Hariod ! Love to you dear Michael and your lovely brown- haired wife . Xxx meg

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    • John , I send blessings of the best to you too ! … You are such an inspiration of soulful poetry to me and so your comment is immense … Thankyou dear friend and I’m so happy for your entertainment of this narrative …love xxx

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    • Hi Mino ! You are the one who shines like a star, beautiful man ! I remain so very grateful for your presence here … love xxxmeg ( do you know the dates yet of your concert in Chicago .)

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