11.4..14 Out Back, The Air Is Warm

Out back, the air is warm, the breeze slight, the wildlife easy. 
Except for the hunters, readying forays into every place not well posted. 
There is a large flock of Juncos, that is playing. Fluttering from stately elder Aspen , down to the fields, all disappearing somehow within the glasses, feeding, then one by one initiating , so that the flock sweeps up and about and about in the air, so gracefully and happily, coming to light upon the Aspen again. And then? Again down. Back-and-forth.
I sit in a chair out back of the house, Dante on a long leash, watching the trees slowly shift through fall.
Watching the cloud cover change, as it slips silently by overhead.
Watching the newest crop of adolescent crows, with their slender young bodies and fingered wing tips, stagger by slowly, in smaller and then larger groups, possibly 100 of them. Young. Preparing for the winter they know nothing of.





I watch as Dante discovers that the elegant old Maple, sick and rotting and cut down this summer, has a stump that has composted well. 
That he can dig into the center of it with great satisfaction, grabbing with his great canine teeth upon one part or another, making excellent headway. 
Scaring himself now and again, as the dug dirt flicks upon the house, or the gutter, looking to me for reassurance - then getting back to work, once again.
Taking up the old roots that extend over the top of the grass, pulling, breaking them, digging them up. Great satisfaction for the genes of a working dog, I know.
As the day seamlessly lengthens, As I look over and notice all the things that are still green in the gardens, and too , the things that have been carefully touched by small frost. 
I sit, and imagine how in time, the whole field, replete with its sick tics, will be covered with snow, and I can unleash Dante, as I did with Shiva, before him, and on cold winter days, we can trudge off through the snow, and go exploring in the woods and out waters.
Possibly because I rest, and do not work, it does not seem like yesterday that spring came upon us. 





It does not seem like yesterday that it was summer. 
It seems that yesterday was the day before today, as November was being ushered in. 
And where we are now? Is no surprise. No days or time list, nor surprises of. 'Oh, is it already ....". 
I suppose this is born of the extravagance inherent in the resting life. The absolute immersion into each and every day. Almost each and every moment.
Devoid of the obligations, the exhaustion's, the enduring of supervisors or organizations or companies who make no sense to us. Long hours that tire our bodies and hearts and minds.
Of course, I was very blessed. To ,in the past,have work that was always a pleasure, a never ending series of mysteries, somehow resulting in increased health and ease for clients galore, with no benefits. No retirement. No sick time. No insurance, oh, and no boss.
So, no, it didn't make a lot of sense , practically. But in terms of loveliness? Satisfaction? Fascination? Certainly a remarkable gift.
Now, the season of embodiment ; of restoration. 
The gift of long days, of solitude versus loneliness. Of peace versus lack of substance and challenge. 
Always, two sides of the very same coin. Always, the yin and yang of our lives.