It won't last, of course. By this time next week, I'll be wearing sweatshirts and huddling in the kitchen to be near the woodstove. But today, I took Kermit out to the side yard and threw a ball for him until he stopped bringing it back to me. Let the clement breeze dry my just-washed hair. Admired my almond tree, the buds of which are already showing tiny white tips.
Simple. Prosaic. For some, boring.
Not me, though. Along with meditating on the signs of spring in the tree, I saw a red-tailed hawk go sailing past the neighborhood. In the planter box by Lillian's window, a plant is sprouted that looks an awful lot like Alex sneaked a celery root in there. Bernie's calendula are blooming like little campfires on the back patio. A pansy plant (!) has volunteered its beauty by Planter Box #7. Kermit dropped the tennis ball on cue, finally, after five years of inability to recognize the command "Release." All those things give me a warm and peaceful feeling.
That beats the hell out of the Dear God, Deliver Us year that is past. 2021 is going to have its sad days, trying days, painful days, I know that. But today was beautiful, and I'm grateful for that.
1 comment:
That foggy vista look like a perfect backdrop for an impromptu poetry reading.
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