Sitting in a quiet house this morning sipping hot dark coffee with soy creamer from a deep blue mug. Not running hither and yon, caught up in the what-must-be-done-next.
Excuse me, I will wander out on the deck to give you a weather report from our Little House in the Big Woods one-quarter mile from Lake Superior’s lapping shores.
I’ve returned. Blue skies smiling at you, overhead, above the green jungle-like canopy. Birds squawking, unseen, forest calls and chirps, hidden ones. In deep summer the winged ones abandon the bird feeder and join the wild spirit back in the crooked arms of maple and poplar trees. They’re raising their young and, like the crows and ravens, introducing the new fledglings to the world with deep croaks and cacophony.
It’s 57 degrees right now, heading upward all day, so the forecasters hint. Summertime, smilin’ at you.
I am suddenly so happy this morning! It could be the coffee, its swirling energy depositing pay-loads of delight coursing through veins of yet-to-be-discovered treasures. It could be because I feel a sudden peace about Facebook. One of my bloggin’ buddies, Pam, over there at roughwighting said something which opened some closed door of perception.
She said she liked Facebook because: I see the ‘normal’ of us, the ones who don’t shoot people, who don’t hurt others, who work hard to enjoy this life. In other words, the ‘regular’ ones of us who aren’t ever in the news. I like that.
Gosh, darn, that hit me alongside the head (in a good way) and suddenly some of my resistance disappeared. YES! That is something to cherish. The same with blogging. It’s a chance to read the words of ordinary people. It’s a medium where we can share about coffee and summer temperatures and ravens teaching their babies how to fly.
It can be that simple.
All the rest–the judgments and opinions and liking and not-liking, the sometimes-uselessness, the cliques, the status decisions, the stalking–this all pales beside the delight of a space where ordinary folks CAN share ordinary thoughts and delights. At least in my mind, for right now. (Always subject to change in the next moment, thank you!)
I was headed over to Facebook to say something lovely about it, but got sidetracked blogging instead.
It also feels delightful this morning because I don’t need to work at the school. Don’t need to do much of anything. (Slow down, you’re movin’ too fast, you got to make the morning last…)
The refrigerator is filled with organic produce and leftovers. Whirred broccoli-leek soup thick with avocado. Garden salad laden with red beans, thin ribbons of peeled carrots, zesty yellow peppers, bold olives, zesty red beans. Thai-style broccoli smothered in a peanut butter-shoyu-garlic-hot sauce over quinoa. Strawberries so ripe and luscious to be sprinkled with chopped walnuts and pulsed buckwheat groats and coconut before drizzling with maple syrup, oh my goodness, it must be almost breakfast!
I am head-over-heels suddenly in love with the ordinary, that book to read, the movie to watch on the Kindle. A walk down the road to perhaps linger by the Eagle Pond, OK, maybe slapping mosquitoes, and maybe wandering down to the bay to dip toes. A visit up to the Copper Country (maybe tomorrow, who knows?) to delight in a special friend. Garden weeds to pick. Dishes to wash.
Forget the invasion of ants–why stress? They come, they invade, they eventually leave. Forget the way our minds can grab hold of kernels of existence and suffer so much. It’s all impermanent, coming and going, rising and falling, and this morning–yes, just for this morning–is it possible to simply sing with the ravens stretching their wings toward the newness of a yet another ordinary extraordinary sun?
What’s in front of your sweet face when you slow down and sip the gift of the moment?