This evening, I am out upon the ridge, nestled in the
foothills of the small mountain range,
sitting in this early springtime
dusk, watching the sun go down. My shepherd and I. Far below us, lies the swollen flooded fields, from recent rains.
As we sit in the deep layers of leaf and loam, the golden sun is setting ; reflected upon the fields
and seasonal ponds, and finally, far off on the horizon, the Connecticut river
itself is glistening golden through the still bare trees.
Small breezes sweep through the waters , causing ripples
visible even from far up here. My pup chews upon sticks and happily chases them, as I sit quietly upon a still asleep land, save the ferns, one of the first to show
themselves, even beneath snow.
A stronger wind comes through, sending all of the treetops
bending and swaying, as it passes quietly by.
And at 61, I recall the song I found so wondrous at age 4. Part of a Christina Rossetti poem, Do you remember this?
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I
But when the trees bow down their heads
The wind is passing by.
One lone great Blue Heron floats overhead, wings
motionless, as the barrage of peepers quiets . Surprise, but
they did see the bird, and all unanimously quieted, as if at the prompt of a chorus
director, for one minute, before hundreds return to chiming once
again.
Tired of chasing sticks, Dante noticed and barked apprehensively at an old tree stump far down the hill ; but soon enough, the pup was happily engaged in digging up the rich forest loam. Lying in it contentedly,
never questioning why.
Today one of my children stopped by with their beloved, a wonderful
short surprise visit. Seamless it was, sitting outside and talking. What a deep
pleasure comes with settled adult offspring, love filling your breast - such deep
happiness just to spend moments together.
And no matter the past, and believe me - there is a past
that warrants a Sylvester Stallone movie, still, gradually the present becomes larger
and more vibrant and alive, and the past is relegated to some beautiful compost
the underlies the value of today.
Far below is the roadway that leads to plots along the
river, no buildings, just one old dirt road that allows some farmers a pathway
for their tractors. And some ease of passage for the Coywolves, although it's
warmer now, food is plentiful, and they have moved far out, away from humans ; their survival insured here in mid April.
A noisy helicopter
passes through the neighborhood, as the sun slowly becomes invisible behind the
distant hills, the golden light cast upon the leaves surrounding us, then upon
the waters farther away, pink slowly set
alight along the horizon above the blue, and an orange that appears all along
the distance , spreading slowing across the very top of the sunset.
We have such a view from where we sit, and both of us keep
looking looking for wildlife. But probably our noise and our smell stick out
like any old kind of sore thumb.
Slowly we have come to be out here each evening, to bid
good night to the day, as do millions of humans and other species the world
over. Upon water and desert and forest and city and country.
Small wind passes by far below, creating a long single ripple
across the lake upon the fields .
The reflection of trees and sky in the waters glimmers as the heavens darken
and the woods around us moves toward night.
Slowly the pup becomes more comfortable being out here.
More accustomed to the intermittent ducks and geese and flocks of birds
settling and talking amongst themselves. He begins to understand the safety
versus the unknown. The peacefulness, and familiarity of our neighborhood.
So much inside of us is appeased by sitting out. The wild
ones do this whenever their bellies are full and things are right with the
world. Humans forget. We forget so easily the vital importance of sitting out.
I drive through my neighborhood and seeing all of the
older people sit out. Every single
evening. Settling themselves. Letting all the experiences they had today slowly
come to some sort of stillness.
Oh, with young
children, or a workaday world, this is much more difficult.
And I suppose it becomes an inadvertent gift when your
health is compromised, your activity slowed, and there is the time and value to
settling yourself well.
And
in this way, another precious day comes to a close. In this way, the daytime animals
settles themselves in for the night, and the nocturnal creatures will alight,
as the earth turns, the wind sweeps by, and the season slowly progresses on its
way.
