we descend Mount Shasta to a city park at its base, where you find the headwaters of the Sacramento River. they say the snow water takes 50 years to flow through the mountain to this source. people carrying containers make their way around the mouth to the reach the cave the pure water pours from. a sacred place. from here the giant river opens up and irrigates the land. from Redding to Chico to Sacramento. across the Delta and down into San Francisco Bay. the days are hot and dry. this is the valley. we search for olives…trailed by birds. #katyamills
like birds without songs
red arrows stitched
in the wing
we are small
we are essential
a killer is lost like a river wandered off became a stream then an eddy then a trickle until it dropped off the face of the earth and dried up into nothing, so far from the source was it
Watching girls and boys and men and women and pandas and squirrels couple off and fall in love can be hard when you’re single
At the café
In the park
At the zoo
Writing is falling in love with the world and the words and the laughter before and after the immediate presence of god i mean source
The rain came yesterday, and washed away all the oil and grime. Washed away what had collected into a film, all summer long. Off the streets and off my mind. And maybe yours. I was having trouble with my thinking, and trouble with my voice. I was feeling disconnected. Until the rain came. Yesterday.
The rain came down nice and hard, yesterday. Processed the film, and exposed it to light. Washed my mind clean of all the residue: the little resentments, the fears, the flashbacks, the trauma. The nicotine and the sugar. The commercial jingles. The internet trolls. The haters. The dogs. The voyeurs. The pigs. The pretenders. The cravings. And all the other petty little troubles that were weighing on me. All summer long.
September rain. And boy, did it rain! For about ten minutes, there was nothing else happening. Everything stopped, and everyone stopped to listen to the rainfall. Here in Sacramento. The best ten minutes all the day long. Sacred.
The rain fall was sacred. And I looked into my kittens eyes, reflected off the rain. And they, into mine. We were all curious and smiling, and maybe you, too. The rain gave my kittens the best ten minutes of their young lives. Their first rain. My kittens gave me fresh eyes, to see.
The rain washed away the trouble in the world. I saw it. I saw my troubles and maybe yours, stream down the gutters and out into the street. Away, away, away. I heard all the noise, all summer long, go under. The noise. I saw it drown. The noise from the advertisements, in television and radio jingles. The noise from the images, too. Moving away, away, away.
The rain fell hard, yesterday. I swear I saw it! I heard it! And all our troubles were washed away. And then the rain was gone, like it never came at all. And humidity set in, because the air was full of moisture. To keep our world honest. To keep our world sacred. To help our spirits, and all of life.
And earlier today, almost 24 hours later… the sweet memory of it all dropped. Dropped from my senses, right deep into my heart. And my heart dialed up this message, and sent it back into the airwaves. Postage prepaid, with insurance.
The rain. I love the rain. And how it fills up my spirit. And fills up the air. Then somehow mysteriously, in that alchemical process… flows back to source.