"Take the time to breathe deeply of the things you love about your area. "
Nancy passed along that note of encouragement this week. And a well-timed reminder it is.
I start each day walking the dog. "Walking" is too big of a word for what we do. I merely accompany the dog while he goes about his business of being a dog. His nose is in high gear while his legs are stuck in first. It takes us about a half-hour to wend our way around one city block.
The pace gives me an opportunity to slow down and enjoy the cycle of life around me.
Since late December, two factors have altered our walk. The first is the simple joy of having just a bit more light every morning. With light comes life. I now see geese commuting from their refuge to their day job of guano-ing public places. And flocks of crows off to do whatever it is that crows do. There is a song sparrow that perches in the neighbor's maple tree, and sings a repeated trill that evokes the rapture of the laughter of women.
But there has been a second joy for the past week or so. Oregon is noted for its wet winters. Not so, as Beth has noted in her blog. We have had unusually clear weather. Each morning I have witnessed a sunrise that only Fitzgerald or Turner could capture with their muse-freed tools.
The trade-off for winter sun, moon, and stars, of course, is unseasonably cold mornings. The type of cold where the mind is focused on the clear border between life and the "undiscovered country."
Nancy is correct. I need to enjoy as much of this now as I can. With two more full moons, I will be retired. With the third, I will be in Mexico.
There is a certain irony that Cynthia, Mike, and Sitka are headed to Salem, just as I am preparing to head south to Mexico. But that, too, is another cycle to be savored -- one day at a time.
Nancy passed along that note of encouragement this week. And a well-timed reminder it is.
I start each day walking the dog. "Walking" is too big of a word for what we do. I merely accompany the dog while he goes about his business of being a dog. His nose is in high gear while his legs are stuck in first. It takes us about a half-hour to wend our way around one city block.
The pace gives me an opportunity to slow down and enjoy the cycle of life around me.
Since late December, two factors have altered our walk. The first is the simple joy of having just a bit more light every morning. With light comes life. I now see geese commuting from their refuge to their day job of guano-ing public places. And flocks of crows off to do whatever it is that crows do. There is a song sparrow that perches in the neighbor's maple tree, and sings a repeated trill that evokes the rapture of the laughter of women.
But there has been a second joy for the past week or so. Oregon is noted for its wet winters. Not so, as Beth has noted in her blog. We have had unusually clear weather. Each morning I have witnessed a sunrise that only Fitzgerald or Turner could capture with their muse-freed tools.
The trade-off for winter sun, moon, and stars, of course, is unseasonably cold mornings. The type of cold where the mind is focused on the clear border between life and the "undiscovered country."
Nancy is correct. I need to enjoy as much of this now as I can. With two more full moons, I will be retired. With the third, I will be in Mexico.
There is a certain irony that Cynthia, Mike, and Sitka are headed to Salem, just as I am preparing to head south to Mexico. But that, too, is another cycle to be savored -- one day at a time.
