I am up before the sun because the newest members of our family, two Labrador puppies, cannot wiggle quietly indoors any longer. I have come to enjoy this time of semi-silence, some semblance of calm before my day officially begins. I sit and watch the alchemy of sunlight and clouds, the color of the sky at dawn sometimes seen as purple—a bruising or a promise. Today I can clearly deconstruct the layers, the red over blue that creates such rich pigment: the ordering of a new dawn.
My daughter was my earliest writer and is still the most inclined to art in various forms. I am attempting to complete a drawing project with her but a new component to her creation has kicked in: perfectionism. She erases and reconstructs a line for the fifth time, that section of paper turning increasingly gray. Her father and I both struggle with this in our own ways. The overwhelming urge to control things, to have them contained in precise parameters. I try to speak to her past enjoyment of taking random items and combining them until something new emerged. Something strange and wild. Undefined.
The trash bags have piled up by the door again. Every now and then I move the bags from kitchen to doorway but am called on to more pressing tasks before getting them to the cans at the end of the drive. I complete that now and spot a butterfly sunning its wings on a patch of parched grass. I attempt to get close enough to snap a photo allowing for the intricacy within the white wings. We swirl circles just beyond the shade of my oak tree. Sweat builds, ready to tumble down my forehead, but we are both still here, unwilling to abandon our stake of noonday sun.
My boys are battling out the legitimacy of their claims to the same seat at the table. At times like these I am stricken anew with the similarity of their features. They are told all the time how much they look alike but raising them at different stages with their own idiosyncrasies sometimes masks this fact. If they had been born closer together, if my daughter had come after instead of before, they could pass for twins. My future son chastises his past for his own obstinacy.
We are on our evening walk, trying to get our dogs acclimated to their leashes. They bump along side-by-side in total disregard of the tangle created in their wake. The more vocal one begins to whine and scoops a piece of his leash into his mouth. The first time he did this I wanted to remove it, to discourage any chewing, but that was not his intention. He threw his head high and picked up the pace on prancing feet as if to say, “I can do it myself.”
Our backs to the coming dusk, he helps us walk him home.
Author's Note:
Spending time in nature is relaxing, inspiring, and necessary for me as a person and artist. It allows me to connect with and reflect on my roots and the beauty all around me every day. I have decided to try to give back to the earth by doing my part to promote the wellness of the natural world. I have been working on de-lawning my yard in order to provide a haven for pollinators and birds (migratory & resident) that are very common in my area. As I nurture these plants, I am nurturing myself in body, mind, and spirit.
I am including a picture collage of several of my plants!
Melissa Nunez lives and creates in the caffeinated spaces between awake and dreaming. She makes her home in the Rio Grande Valley region of South Texas where she enjoys exploring and photographing the local wild with her homeschooling family. You can find her on Twitter @MelissaKNunez and Instagram @melissa.king.nunez.
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