Monday, May 31, 2004

Memorial Day

This morning dawned gray and cold and I stayed in bed much longer than I normally do -- until ten. Normally, I'm up and out of bed by eight. I take my vitamins, drink my glass of water, snag a piece of fruit and a yogurt (or whatever else I've decided to have for breakfast), check on and water all my plants and seedlings and take the hardier plants outdoors for what little sunshine peers thru the clouds these days, and climb the steps to my loft office. Up under the high pitched roof I have windows near my desk and computers and windows on the opposite wall where light streams thru when it decides to visit. Lately, it has been a capricious companion, but even the sight of the towering pines I see out all the windows, the pines that completely surround my little mountain haven, is heartening because it is a daily reminder of the wonder of actually living in a cabin in the mountains, a dream I have held since I was a child.

Right now the wind is roaring thru the trees and they shake and shiver and bend in its wake. It is cold out there, but he sun is bright today, herding the vast puffy white lakes overhead, pushing them thru a light cobalt blue sky.

Did you know a cloud is really a lake suspended in the air above you? Think about it. Clouds are water vapor and lakes are composed of water. Hence--lakes.

There was ice on the BBQ grill cover on the deck and a puddle of melting water waterfalling down to the boards. Hummingbirds were busily fighting the heavy winds to perch on the feeder and drink despite their feathers blowing about them like Marilyn Monroe's skirts over the subway grate. Mountain chickadees with their peach-tinted breasts fly up from the ground to the deck and walk around picking up seeds and insects, hopping here and there rather than fly against the freight train whoosh of the wind. Chipmunks skitter like tan and brown striped New Orleans roaches from tree to tree up and down the mountainside on chipmunk errands, probably prizing open fallen pine cones for their seeds and looking for early mushrooms peering from roots and deadfall. More new birds I have yet to identify zip past the deck, scattering the hummingbirds that quickly come back to the feeder to rest and relax. A harem of does crossed the ridge in their daily trek to feeding grounds on the lower plains, huddled together and ready to bolt, although they tolerate my presence.

And I have work to do, an essay I have put off because I'm afraid I don't have anything to write important enough to be noticed, let alone win. But it is these small moments, these times when I feel in tune with the little world around me, when I can walk out onto the deck and feel the brush of hummingbird wings, coax the does a little closer so I can see their eyes and hear their gentle snuffling, or feed the three camp robbers who swoop in to peck seed from my hands that anything is possible -- even having something worthwhile to write.

Happy Memorial Day to all and to all a good BBQ or reasonable facsimile thereof.

I'll shut up now.

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