the most beautiful thing: the buck & the peacock
There is a sweet nibbling buck in the back yard behind the leaning sunflowers and rain-catching flagstones. The peacock sings out his holler from a high branch of the elm tree out front, his long blue plumes lofting softly behind the holler. The breeze swings really big droplets too and fro in an almost-showering trot. And that little story of her grandfather plays around in my head.
A burly biker. A weathered leather-clad woman cuddling in near the departure gate. A grandfather and his grown-up granddaughter walking by. And the old man says to her, “Well, it just goes to show you; there’s someone for everyone.”
And the buck and the peacock seem an unlikely pair, but from one to the other is a house where I am sleeping soundly thinking about my someone, and all the someones out there for all of us, and it seems not so strange. There is someone for everyone every minute.
Today, my lunch date was a fellow potter outside the studio hunched over ceramics magazines and talking about how one might smuggle glazing chemicals into one unmentionable country. Right then, she was my someone.
Tonight, my sister called back. She did and we laughed and the rain drops kept up their big plops and I imagined Lake Michigan with all us grown up kids together and we sighed and we loved each other over the wire. And she was my someone.
And tomorrow morning I will be on a phone meeting with a new yet unmet friend and she will be my someone for those thirty or so minutes.
And we are surrounded by our someones. Be them buck, peacock or skunk. Each one, a precious heart beating sweet hopes and nauseating fears, a palm outstretched and clenched, a smile wide or wilting. Our someone worthy of love and all we have.
Maybe right now I am your someone. Thank you for my little someone moment. If you let me give you one of my own, I promise I’ll try my best to let you know that when you are my someone, you are the most beautiful thing in my view. Come, stay a while, we’ll have a cup of tea. Even if we have to sip it in our minds as we pass on the street so briefly and anonymously as each others’ someone…
Mugs and photo by Tokyo Moe.