“These are our few live seasons. Let us live them as purely as we can, in the present.”
― Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
“This is how you spend this afternoon, and tomorrow morning, and tomorrow afternoon. Spend the afternoon. You can't take it with you.”
― Annie Dillard, The Abundance: Narrative Essays Old and New
the week is full of dirt, weeds, and spring.
i am surprised at how warm the soil is,
even thought there are two small patches of snow left in the yard.
it seems spring was not fooled and was doing her job
beneath that white, icy blanket.
i come in each day tired, in a good way; feeling content and blessed.
i make a “take in the good” list . . .
waking at sunrise
dirty fingernails
the red crowns of rhubarb in the garden
the dog curled up beside me, using my red weeding bucket for shade
Katie’s IG feed and their trip to Germany
listening to the birds and trying to identify their calls
beautiful evening light
a hot shower after being in the garden all day
a glass of red wine
the song of spring peepers coming through the open window at night
nothing mind blowing
but all of it so good, and worthy of my attention.
“Just watch this moment, without trying to change it at all. What is happening? What do you feel? What do you see? What do you hear?”
― Jon Kabat-Zinn, Wherever You Go, There You Are: Mindfulness Meditation in Everyday Life
Sunday morning dawns as the dog and I leave our bed. My husband rolls towards the middle, finally having the bed to himself, and sleeps on as we slip out the door.
I let Baker outside and watch as he mills around the yard smelling here and there, checking for any night visitors we might have had. He takes care of business and makes his way up the deck stairs to the back door. I open the door and watch as he darts towards the couch, surveying the front yard out our front window, looking for any intruders in the watershed across the street.
I join him with my latte and we settle in, him watching, me reading. Soon I am pulled towards the sounds of geese honking and I watch out the window as two Canadian geese make their way to the pond behind our home. The book lies in my lap as I listen, and my mind settles, I am surprised when I feel my body relax too, as I didn’t know I was holding stress.
Soon he is back at the door wanting out. I let him go and watch again. Nose to the ground, he leaps towards the back of our property, running pell mell until he suddenly stops and looks up; his bay deep and soulful. I slip on my clogs, grab a treat and head out.
High on the branch the raccoon is watching him with intent. I marvel at his sweet face, but also know he is scared and looking for food. This winter has been hard on all of us.
I break the treat into thirds and coax Baker across the yard, telling him what a good boy he is as he follows, knowing how hard it is for him to leave. Once he is safe inside, I step out onto the deck with binoculars and watch as the raccoon makes his way down out of the tree, heads over the fence, and leaves our yard.
“Every bit of life comes with instructions, when we are attentive enough to notice.”
― Karen Maezen Miller
I hear the geese before I see them. Above me, the two Canadian geese fly gracefully as they leave the pond behind our home. I stand and watch them and once again I feel an ease flood over me.
I head back inside, feed the dog and make some toast; understanding what I am feeling is “at home”.