Where Have I Been?

Let's just say the computer company that is named after a fruit (and in my case that fruit should be re-named Lemon) will not be asking to me do a commercial for them very soon. If ever. Their competition might, however, should they ever learn of the twists and tangles of tech support and the repair processs I have been traversing. I was ready to go over to their side, by last Saturday, as I was on the phone yet again with tech support.

I told the person there, "I am going to put this thing in its box and drop it in the river. And then I am heading to Best Buy to get an eMachine."

And he replied, with a faint note of horror, "Oh, no. Don't do that."

And I thought, what is this -- a computer company, or a cult?

And now, after replacing nearly all the parts, and even failing to put some of them back in--yes! the repair service center, their very own, failed to replace my RAM! (honestly, I am not imaginatively gifted enough to be making this shit up), the machine seems to be fixed, seems to be working better than it ever has in the 2 years I have owned it. But I am still not ready to say, Yes, it's fixed. Time will tell.....

So, soon I will return to the mindset of this blog. I can only say for certain that the mornings are cool and foggy, with the sun golden, set high like a brilliant softly rounded topaz gem amidst a bright blue clarity of sky, all of it floating above the tangles of soft grey mist. I hear Canada geese up there, wending their way back south, but taking their time about it as they always do. The leaves on the trees are all still green.

Here on earth, I see a mother deer and her twin older babies out amongst the meadow grass at the tree's edge, the youngsters foolish and curious and unaware of the potential threat of human and dog. They are that intense orange color of summer's end. Their large ears flip and flap as they stare at us with big, dark eyes, so beautiful, so beautiful.

As I turn up the hill again, back into the mist sprawling beneath the old trees, I see a large crow, inky black, perched atop a large grey gravestone. The crow is babbling and chortling to itself as it preens its shining feathers dappled by beads of early day fog. The sunlight pierces that fog in pale golden shafts at random angles and in crazed patterns of new day light.

I emerge from the trees and stop and stand and look out and up at the very top branches of a venerable old tree, its leaves vividly green and tipped by amber gold. The sky is that devastatingly bright September blue, a northern shade, truly.

All this tells me, softly, fiercely, how deeply I am blessed.

May you know that too, today and any day, in whatever way the message comes through to you.

Until next time, I remain, your friend, Rozenkraai