The Happening

From the 8^th floor

I look down to the quiet street.

No walkers.

A few cars moving steadily

Without stepping forward.

Church bells on the hour

Finding no audience.

Spring trees bursting without my help.

Is nothing happening or am I not doing the work?

I am reminded of an exchange from my Chicago years.

An out-of-towner seated at the Lounge Axe.

Looking very anxious.

Grimacing and resettling in his stool.

Walks down towards me and says with exasperation--

“When does this place get going”

All I could think to say was

“It is going”.

Drained his beer and left with purpose.

I heard a story the other day

Of a young person turning down

A summer of adventure

For the routine of home.

They feared both missing out

And not being missed.

The adventure too lonely.

The prospect of nothing happening too dire.

We talk of scared spaces and places

Seeking beauty and quiet to remind us.

To reset us.

The rush of the water or the sight of an ancient tree.

That only works if we do the work

If we open-or close- our eyes

And activate our ears.

The scared spaces and places are all around us

.

I have been shoehorned in small music halls with hundreds of others.

Sweating and yelling and dancing.

That was a scared space.

I have seen bands as part of an audience of five

Where the singer locks down on every one of us

Unforgettable.

The dry beds of the Los Angeles River

And ducks resting in a pool of water only 10 feet around.

Couldn’t stop staring.

Open and close your eyes

And see if what is in front of you

Looks different- better or worse?

But it won’t be the same.

You begin to recognize

That with work- you are making it happen.