You must get up mighty early, these days to see the sunrise. . .but it is well worth the effort. It is a holy time for me, when the light comes to the world, whether it it is blinding and joyful or shy and gentle. Either way, the light proclaims, a new chance for us.
The contents of a day, can vary greatly. . .and not all are filled with pleasantries, but many are. Most often, there is something to be glad about and most often, we needn’t “break a sweat” finding it. More than ever, we must strive for hopeful things.
We must seek balance.
Currently, with the whole planet, unsteady, I have thought a lot about this subject. I have noticed, in the last decade, long before this pandemic-(that I never imagined) that society in general seemed to be getting further and further away from authenticity. In some way, we were already donning masks. We were also already building fortresses, which hid our truths. No one wanted to admit they were older or made just an average salary. We validated our faults, instead of owning them and striving to improve ourselves. What a fruitless and tiring and complicated way of living. Because we know, we can not trust our own motives, we are also, now a suspicious lot, as well.
Now the present circumstances are trying, for all of us. The headlines are always grim. . . and what is yet to come, many fear. I so wished I had a remedy for all-but I “know” less now than ever and I realise that fully since the “shock” never gets chance to wear off. In such conditions, I must cling to what few things I have found steadfast -and “doctor” my self.
In light of this,I make it my business to fill my heart with all the goodness I can. As a prime example, the neighbors have the loveliest Mimosa tree blooming. It is as happy a shade of pink as I have ever seen. I have several myself, on the rabbitpatch, but none that delightful color – and they all perfume, the evening air, til I scarce want to go in. I always linger til the first stars appear. The splendor of star shine has not diminished nor has the golden light of the moon that cracks through the darkness of night.
Every day I wander around the territory hunting thorned vines and poison ivy. I am scratched up and have blisters on my hands, for I never come up short, on my hunt. I have stepped in yet another hill of fire ants . . .but I also came across a butterfly bush, in one of the far corners , blooming its’ heart out. Now, because of that solitary thing of beauty, that “far corner” has become a destination, in my traipsing.
The oldest barn has a bay that leads to several small stables. The boxer and I were walking through early one morning, when we both heard a “tinkling sound”. It reminded me of a small music box. The boxer looked up-and was on high alert . . so I did too. There, peeking over the top of a nest made of mud, was the sweetest little face! How could I have forgotten the return of the darling swallows? I appreciate the common swallows that brighten my walk. Swallows do not have the best reputation, for they are liable to swoop at anyone, who dares to get near their nests . . .but they mate for life, and return dependably, to the same place each year to raise their brood. The swallows and I are on good terms and so they cheerfully allow me to adore their family.
The “country went to town again”, for on Sunday, I left for Raleigh. The rabbitpatch was tidy, and I fixed several dishes for Christian and a cake, so he wouldn’t starve. (I can not stop myself from this practice.)
Sydney has mostly worked from home, since Ryan was born-and then the pandemic. There was a meeting she needed to attend in person, on Monday, hence my visit. Of course, I was happy to go and not even the drive hindered my enthusiasm.
I stayed til Thursday. Ryan was as bonnie as ever. He is a calm, happy child and so loving. I took him on several strolls. Once we got caught in a sudden rain. The cool drops fell on us and we neither minded. One day, we climbed several hills, on our stroll. The sunshine was hot, when we traveled the unshaded patches of sidewalks. The humidity was low, that day and so the sky was especially blue. I never see a soul in the yards, and I wondered for a short while, if we were the only ones left in the world. But there, in the far distance, I caught a glimpse of a dog walker, and so that which I imagined, was not the case.
Sydneys’ mom, came for a visit and how good it was for us to dote on little Ryan, together. She stayed with me, while Sydney was at the meeting. Between the two of us, Ryan was content and dry when his mom arrived home.
Each evening, we all enjoyed a meal together. I tried to fix dishes, that I knew were their favorites. Sydney got her macaroni & cheese, Brant got his brunswick stew and we all enjoyed brownies – both, chocolate and strawberry batches.
One day, it was Thursday, and so I collected my things and left at mid afternoon. It was a beautiful day -clear and bright. I tucked a picture of Ryan sleeping contentedly in his mothers’ arm, deep in my heart , to savor on the trip home.
I did something brave . . .for this “scared rabbit” anyway . . .I took a different route home!- and lived to tell about it! That awful twisting turning detour was still in place, and I had heard Sydney talk about driving through a town called Zebulon. and there at the intersection, just before the road construction, was a sign marking the road to Zebulon. The GPS simply said “Drive ten miles” and did not seem alarmed in the least. Ten miles later, I was on the highway to the “rabbitpatch”.
Christian had made a pot of coffee, to welcome me home and the boxer pranced about, as we carried things in. I looked around the tidy yard and noticed the lilies were blooming – and the roses had clearly caught a “second wind”.
After supper, the boxer and I took a walk around the territory. I spied a little, spotted fawn . He was walking around the yard as if he too was taking account of such an evening. I hushed the boxer, and he became as still as a statue. The fawn showed no sign of distress and did not hurry on his way back to the young woods. I was sure his mother watched in terror, from the shadows.
The corn had grown a least a foot, I noticed and the cotton field was green with plants in neat rows. How lovely, it all looked in the amber rays of the sunset. . . ‘ . . .even the very old and shabby barn .