Fernhill Wetlands gave me a little taste of summer love, clear blue skies overhead with only the wispiest of clouds, calm reflective waters, languid herons, and fading flowers. Though I've visited here three different times, it was always winter, with grey skies, cold misty fog, winter birds and plants, and the godawful nutria.
"Today's a great day," Ezra says on repeat. "Is every day a great day?" I ask. "Yes," he says, "every day is a great day." It's been a rough week. My friend Kim died suddenly, so I'm glad for the solace and light wherever and whenever it comes.
It's an in-between time around here. Red, yellow, and orange leaves cover the ground and linger in the tree branches, hanging on til the next big winds. Rain alternates between torrents and sprinkles. I've just been in a "should I stay or should I go" sort of mood.
I've been mulling over the ordinary things in life: my pen and paper, cold water, the tomato and eggplant. They transform as soon as I take notice, revealing something extraordinary.
My week in review.... Sometimes life seems to stand still, so I'm grateful for the snapshots over the course of the week to remind me of how time passes, how things grow and change, what a beautiful world, so much hope.
Worms, kids, birds, and a garden. #Wordless Wednesday
Here I go walking in circles again. If it's not one direction out my front door, it's the other, always in circles, round and round the neighborhood, looping past the same houses, same yards, same trees.
I read a collection of modern haikus the other day, and the words that stayed with me were Quarantine! Finding comfort! Coronavirus! Butterfly! Moon! Breeze!
Today the grandkids and I buried one of the baby scrub jays that live in the tall line of arborvitae lining the upper edge of our backyard.
What will be my Quarantine Story, what tales will I tell in five years, or 10 or 20? Will it be a story of victory or sadness, revelation or survival, entertainment or boredom, or even joy? Which stories will last, and which will be of the moment?