Gray skies are gonna clear up

A century or two ago when Jerry would put to sea, I would pine for him and walk the widow’s walk searching the horizon for his ship. Okay, typically, if his ship was leaving, I would see it pass Point Loma as it departed and I would start the clock moving toward his return. I worked on the Sub Base in San Diego (at Point Loma) and his ship was homeported across the bay at the 32^nd Street Naval Base. Coming and going he had to pass by. I remember the first time I dropped him off and then headed to my work. They were off for a six-month WestPac and had been scheduled to pull out by 0900. I finally went to get coffee in our mess about 1030 and there was the ship passing by…goddammit! I did a sad little Charley Brown shuffle back to my office where my co-worker, Darla, and I commiserated. She too was married to sailor. The long time apart, wasn’t new. We’d spent nine months separated after we’d gotten married: he went to his ship in San Diego and I was in Norfolk. So, when I finally got to my command in SD it was a little disheartening to find out the ship was leaving and with it, Jerry. Setting into a routine wasn’t hard: I worked long hours, I hit the gym daily, I ran miles and miles and miles, I wrote a lot of letters, I went to the beach and played volleyball with my co-workers and I missed Jerry. And I allowed myself time to be sad, to be down, to, well, pine. And when that got tiring, I stopped. I actually put a notice on my calendar when I’d indulge and I had a rule I could feel sorry for myself and cry and wail for one day a month, after that knock it off, find something to do. And the moment I stopped being sad or ripping my hair out I had to stop until the next scheduled time. For me this worked, I got tired of myself really fast. For me the indulging in, allowing myself to feel this way worked. And it is something I have done since, indulge it and get it out, let it ride. This past week I’ve been riding it. I can feel it stumble, it’s wearing down.

How will I ride

The darkest of nights is already lightening.
Coyote song begins again
and the moon fades back to yellow.

How will I ride? Like my cowboy
grandfathers, my bronc busting uncles.
I’ll find the meanest horse and we’ll
out mean the day. I’ll ride with poetry
and song in my saddlebags up
to the mountains and high lakes
where time is tasted in every breath
and stars cover the skies so thick
you are drunk in the dazzle.
Where trout are covered
in stardust and bear and elk
leave faint trails in the night.

How will I ride? Like someone who’s
been told they can’t ride. How will
I ride, like someone with a mission.