7.27.14 You Must Understand

You must understand. First, there's the shower of raindrops, sprinkling everywhere upon you, all around you, each time the wind rustles through the tall old Maples overhead. Taking the rain which has sat upon each leaf and stem, and tossing it about into the air, falling like so many stars.

Then there is the song of the trees themselves, something you remember now from childhood, noticing, the song of the leaves, of tree branches overhead- changing timbre and song and rhythm and chorus, 

all according to the season, with or without leaves, frozen or besotted with the most recent summer's rain.

And then there are the Pine Siskins, tiny agile birds, all day every day quietly chirping to one another, as they go about their lives, climbing up and down pine trunks, right side up, upside down, their babies the most miniscule small avians you have ever seen - almost - plotting the capture of the even smaller moths, as daylight finally begins it's departure, once again, from the neighborhood.

And then there is the bright sunlight, that comes streaming through all of a sudden, like beacons, through the violet billowy clouds far up in the sky. All of a surprise, now and then, shining a bright light and warmth upon you , upon patches of mosses, and a scattering of lightening here and there through the trees.

There is the pup, sitting by your side, happily pulling out and then chewing up fresh juicy strands of long green grasses, as he observes the world about him ,in this small enclave upon the earth.
And it is Sunday, day of rest : free from problem-solving,and, if you're lucky, working. A day of reflexion, of remembering, and even more so-of gratitude. 

Gratitude, spilling out of you, spilling over you, with no relation to what you do or do not like about your life, nothing to do with what is difficult or easy or what has gone well or what has been heartfelt and difficult. Simple gratitude, multiplying all by itself, each and every time you pull it near. 

There's the sound and the smell and the feel of a day of rest, unfolding down from the range, across the hilly basalt land, down into the outwaters- teeming with life; down into the powerful rough old Connecticut, with its memory and it's wisdom and it's knowledge as it streams, with it's capacity simply to flow, as days continue by.