Tag Archives: Oklahoma sunsets

Hubby Walks


“See that cracked asphalt?”

“Yeah. The road’s starting to break down, isn’t it?”

“Well, maybe. But I was just thinking it looks like my facial skin feels after I get out of a hot shower in the morning.”

“Oh. And it also looks like my lips when they get chapped.”

Mick and I were walking and when it’s just you, a country road and 1.5 hours of time together, these are the kinds of conversations that happen.

For the past two days, we’ve walked 4.5 and 4.0 miles respectively. Our paths have been different four square mile routes and we’re discovering quite a bit of brand new information about the area in which we’ve lived for the past eight years. For example, someone close to us sells goats. That was brand new information.


There is a “Two Bears Creek” on Coffee Creek Road and the owners of the land adjacent to the creek put two baby ceramic bears out by the road, in case anyone needed a smile.

We identified at least three different kinds of animal poo, decided the neighborhood association needs to sponsor a “trash pick up day,” saw some rats, took a peek at the police firearm training facility, checked out some Angus cattle, found a perfectly good sun protector (those kind that fold out and keep your car from turning into a convection oven during the summer), and yelled at a couple of bluejays.

One other thing…I think I asked to stop at least twenty times because for the past two days the sunsets have been amazingly, outrageously, incredibly, georgeously lovely… Continue reading Hubby Walks


How strong is the power of the Western Sky? Powerful enough to make my eyes check all the mirrors, then my speed, then the shoulder…until they find a safe place.  A place where I can let go of my responsibilities as a driver, and accept the freedom of Sun Worship once again.

Worshiping a God who gives me this image upon which to gaze is the only choice my psyche has; it is hypnotic-esque. The horizon woos my spirit into a slumber by showing me the soft grey blanket of cloudy mist she is slipping over the End of the Day. She tugs at the blanket, creating fingers stretched so that they almost touch together the top and bottom of my view.

“I’m tucking in the Day,” she whispers.  “Are you safe?  Nice and tight in within the loving force of the Life you lived today?  Are you ready to bid my Sun farewell and welcome Twilight?”

It’s not really a series of questions from the Horizon to me as it is the Final Call.  “Last round of the daylight, soak it in while you can!”

The Horizon’s voice is gentle, soothing, reassuring.


Grateful once again…no, grateful forever…I breathed out the last breaths of day, and inhaled the first breaths of twilight.  Then I got back into my car and drove home through the twilights mists until I reached my driveway.  By the time my tires turned toward the house, Twilight was in full force and the Horizon was sleeping.  Dreaming.  Dreaming as she rotated around Mother Earth until she met Oklahoma once again on Sunday morning.


Big Sky = Big Medicine. Really Big Medicine.

The morning passed with fury. Meetings in Oklahoma City were followed by a drive to my campus 65 miles from point A toward…meetings in Stillwater, point B.  Concerns and mid-semester blusters stirred the pot of our academic soup du jour; the odor wafting from this churning fare was neither inviting to the students nor the faculty. “It’s what we’ll eat, because we must,” They collectively agreed through classes commencing and adjourning, research haltingly progressing, activities completed for reasons no one easily articulates.

The day progressed, the halls grew quieter, the chatter in the air sputtered and eventually silenced, punctuated with only an occasional interjection as my building cleared and light switches were pushed into the downward position. The College breathed a sigh of relief as those with beating hearts left their work for another day; its windows watched as the academics filed into the parking lot, engaged their various modes of transportation and headed toward the next segment of Life.

My one-hour drive home was not yet halfway complete when I realized the pain coming from my hands was due to my death grip on the steering wheel.  My white knuckles shined like eight surrender flags to my bloodshot eyes, sending a signal that had taken twenty-four miles to reach my brain.  The channels between my hands and brain were too clogged with traffic jams of Outlook calendars, publications, advisees and search committees to become aware of the beacons being sent over and over: “Stop. Stop. Please. Stop. Stop. Please. I mean it. I said Please.”

My myopic, rigid and focused view of the road ahead of me slowly dilated until it reached the width of my windshield.  Once expanded, my view shifted toward more of what lie ahead of me than simply the speeding asphalt and yellow or white lines.  There was, in front of me, a fragment remaining of the Day.  A remnant of what I almost missed was there for the taking because my subconscious took over my knuckles and screamed, “Hurt her. She’s not hearing my gentle voice.  Shake her. Please. I mean it.”

Beyond the windshield, through the shatterproof glass, past the pale of the Way Home lie a Holy Place.  I pulled my car over, compelled to find it.  The shoulder wasn’t far enough from the Way Home.  I pulled off the road until all four wheels rested on the dead grass and damp earth, pushed the gearshift toward Park, breathed out and turned off the ignition.  I heard…nothing.  I felt…tension. I needed…space.

I exited my car, white knuckles helping the death grip of my keys remain secure.  I headed toward a hill adjacent to a pastureland which was adjacent to my Space.  Black high heeled boots and soft earth wrestled during my ascent but I didn’t know it.  My brain was focused on the need for space.  The need for…this:


Cresting the hill, my body sunk into the ground, my knees taking a crossed position under my rayon plum suit.  The course dead grass stabbed through the rayon and my skin fought back. Continue reading Big Sky = Big Medicine. Really Big Medicine.