| As some of you know I only just returned from a road trip around the Olympic Peninsula. I fiercely needed to hear the sea, to stand in old-growth forests, to find that one place to light my spirit with awe. I did all that – came to know things I hadn’t, stood with my mouth agape at the early morning beauty of the beach on the Quileute Reservation. I see colors in the trunks of trees, but on one of the Sol Duc trails there was a shade of blue I hadn’t seen before. In the Hoh Rain Forest there was also a new color – an unusual rose. I like this sort of thing – how the spirit of place affects the trees, but I do wonder why I haven’t seen these colors before. |  |
I expected to find miracles. I went in search of them, put myself in readiness to receive – and there they were. What I didn’t expect to find was an array of delightful old men. Yes. Old men. At Ocean Shores there were several. One early morning I rounded a corner of a hallway surprised to find one of these already up – gray and nearly bald. I was quite startled. Through his German accent I understood him to reassure me there was no need to fear. I wondered if he might have come specifically with a message from God. No fear.
At Quinault two old men and I flirted. One reached past me to lay his money on the counter to pay for some small item. I told him that it wasn’t enough. He was confused but his beautiful friend chortled. Later we visited for a while. Beautiful man. Sweet. The shine of life in his eyes.
There were several more encounters, but the one that was most profound occurred in the rain forest. Snow white beard, sharp eye. I could see with my excellent peripheral vision he’d grown still, watching me. I didn’t turn my head to look at him, nevertheless our eyes met for a moment. All I can say is that he was powerful and I am almost sure he was actually there in more than only spirit.
I am often around amazing and powerful old women. Opinionated, laughing, outrageous. But I hadn’t thought much about old men, that perhaps they are like my friends and I – live alone by choice, go where they please, say an do what they want.
I should have known this, of course. It isn’t that I don’t know men who are remarkable and intriguing, but I hadn’t realized there was a whole world of them. I hadn’t realized that, like me, they walk the beaches for their own reasons, seek spirits who live on the rough side of the mountain, the banks of rivers, in wave washed stones.
Is this condescending? Or sexist? Please don’t tell me if it is. Instead, let me delight in this new discovery of love for old men. But that one in the rain forest? Well now.
At Quinault two old men and I flirted. One reached past me to lay his money on the counter to pay for some small item. I told him that it wasn’t enough. He was confused but his beautiful friend chortled. Later we visited for a while. Beautiful man. Sweet. The shine of life in his eyes.
There were several more encounters, but the one that was most profound occurred in the rain forest. Snow white beard, sharp eye. I could see with my excellent peripheral vision he’d grown still, watching me. I didn’t turn my head to look at him, nevertheless our eyes met for a moment. All I can say is that he was powerful and I am almost sure he was actually there in more than only spirit.
I am often around amazing and powerful old women. Opinionated, laughing, outrageous. But I hadn’t thought much about old men, that perhaps they are like my friends and I – live alone by choice, go where they please, say an do what they want.
I should have known this, of course. It isn’t that I don’t know men who are remarkable and intriguing, but I hadn’t realized there was a whole world of them. I hadn’t realized that, like me, they walk the beaches for their own reasons, seek spirits who live on the rough side of the mountain, the banks of rivers, in wave washed stones.
Is this condescending? Or sexist? Please don’t tell me if it is. Instead, let me delight in this new discovery of love for old men. But that one in the rain forest? Well now.
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