I was drawn to the light, the lure of the early morning sun and the glorious play of colors she brings.
I kept driving east, without any idea exactly what street I was driving on, I was just driving.
I wove my car south on Chester Avenue to 8th street - at least I I think the next street I took was 8th street. I was conscious I was in what was to some a scary area, but what I noticed was how lovely some of the houses were, tenderly cared for on a near daily basis from what I could observe when I looked briefly away from the light.
I crossed through Union Avenue.
I noticed the police activities league on my right, before or after Union Avenue I do not know.
I just wanted a clear view of the light.
It was as if I was hypnotized by the view. The mountains, cloudy mist hugging them. I could see things not normally seen due to too many cars and the perfect smog pocket tucked here at the end of the valley.
There came that moment when I was no longer hazy with light-drunkenness. It was that moment when everything became perfectly clear. It was as if a light switched on and my frustration turned to my lack of high quality equipment.
I kept driving east, I kept not finding a clear line of vision.
I gave myself a limit.
I turned my car around when I got to that limit.
I drove back to what had become the primary lures: a railroad track and a line of plum trees.
My creative muse was louder than the fear of where I was.
The magnetic song of beauty in what some see as ugliness and courage in what some haven’t been able to see at all sang to me, sacred chiming bells from the corner church in my heart.
I had to get out of my car to take photos. Nothing could contain me.
I imagine some people see this place as blighted. They left their wake of this place decades ago. I stood, fast, alongside and inside the railroad tracks. A man walking past looked at me. He wore his question across his forehead, “What is she doing?” followed by, “What is SHE doing?”
I was staying focused. I was aware of the light’s fragility and my limited time with this particular brand of glow.
I snapped and I moved. I moved and I snapped.
I climbed back into my car and drove a block to one of my favorite places in the city, a space I sometimes take my friends to visit on a whim. It is sort of like Zingo’s: if the people I bring there “get it” then they can be my friend. If they just think I’m weird, I may continue the friendship, but I know it will never go beyond a certain depth.
What caught my eye when I first drove by were the blooming plum trees.
On my way back to my car, after capturing enough “poses” of plums and odd looks from people driving in and out of the less than desireable neighborhood, I noticed something else. Petals. Plum petals.
I noticed there was a hint of a footprint there, an athletic shoe, left probably the day before or the day before the day before. I noticed to the left of that, a heart shaped pock mark in the mud. The rainmaker had left his fingerprints there, perhaps because my presence there had been foreseen.
I, who cannot and will not resist the light.
I, who is not afraid of adventuring in places others perceive as less than desirable.
I, who am willing yet terrified.
I, who am so grateful to have such moments in which to create.
You, who are….
You, who are?
You. Who are.
Tell me who you are.....
=====
Julie Jordan Scott is a writer, creative life coach, speaker, performance poet, Mommy and mixed-media artist. Her word-love themed art will be for sale at a First Friday in Downtown Bakersfield. Check out the links below to follow her on a bunch of different social media channels, especially if you find the idea of a Word-Love Party bus particularly enticing.
Please stay in touch: Follow me on Twitter: @JulieJordanScot
Be sure to "Like" WritingCampwithJJS on Facebook. (Thank you!)
And naturally, on Pinterest, too!
Recent Comments