“There is a Season. . . “

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The “crack of dawn” comes a lot earlier than it used too.  I wake with light, by nature, and unless it is raining, I am ready to “find my day.”  It is early now, and the light is still soft at the rabbit patch.  The old trees are full of new leaves now so I watch the shade and sunlight duel for territory.  The effect is charming and I remember that I  love light and shadow too.

Today, I will stop by the town of Windsor, on the way to Elizabeth City.  It is a small town, about twenty minutes from here.  A cousin “threw a family reunion together”- at the last minute.  Her daughter says “it is her nature to do such things”.  Cousin Dotsie, will not bother herself with mighty plans and details-but   I expect it to turn out as if she did.  I have a cousin from New York that is down and I think that inspired Cousin Dotsie’ idea.

I have not been to Elizabeth City in three weeks.  I have missed strolling the historical river village with Lyla.  I know that the mock orange is surely done blooming, but I bet the cocky mockingbird is still singing.  We may see young bunnies.  Elizabeth City helped inspire the name ‘Rabbit Patch”.  I have never seen so many rabbits in any one town.  They are not at all skittish, like their country cousins.  Some one dear to me there, claims a mother rabbit was nursing babies in his yard last year-and I believe him.  Lyla and I get practically close enough to the rabbits to introduce ourselves properly as we walk in the evening!  I have never heard any of the residents  of Riverside speak a word against the rabbit community-but I notice, they do not grow strawberries there.

I am packing light today, as this is a short visit.  Usually, I cook meals ahead of time for Kyle and Christian, but this time they are left to their own primative devices.  They will probably scramble eggs.  I will leave the house in good order as usual, excepting the wide hall, where the roof is being repaired.  There is a hammer and a crowbar on the shelf beside my books and plant-and a large pile of debris in the floor.    The yard needs mowing too, but I am “throwing caution to the wind”, and spending time with loved ones, instead , this week end.  I am older now, and would rather watch rabbits with Lyla, than most things.

Life has a way of helping us define, without great effort, what we truly love.  There really is a “time for every season” as Solomon wrote.  I am at a place, never imagined in my youth.  I thought “old people grew flowers, because that is about all they could do”.  Now I know, old people grow flowers because it is beautiful to do so.  In youth, we gather, and in time we “cast away” what doesn’t matter-we “break down” what we once thought was good and we “build up” what we found was of value.  Now we “laugh and dance” in authentic joy -and “we heal” as we need to.   We have learned full well, that “all that glitters is not gold.”  The other day, I remembered a fancy stereo system, that I had actually made payments on.  I do not know what became of it . . . however I know which book has pressed violets and  sweet gum leaves in it,  gathered when Brant and I walked in the woods, now decades ago. I have a basket of rocks and twigs that Tres collected -they did not get  “cast out” as I moved about.

And so, in light of this . . the grass can grow as it pleases, this weekend.  It is the “season to love”, after all, as well.