OH HAPPY DAY!

The shadows out my window fill the woods with only patches of light.  It's a bright day, almost no clouds, yet the shade is deep, the leaves a darker green than ever yet this year.  Far off but still visible a gravel drive, a neighbor's pond and gazebo, fancier than the tall weeds and foxtail that grow in sunlit patches of mine.  Just beneath my windows ferns and mosses spread on the damp side of the house.  Our land rolls to the creek, a ravine of old leaves wedged between roots and rocks, rerouting the water with each hard rain.  

One larger patch of sunlight catches my eye.  Shade grass squeezes between the granite, quartz and sandstone, trunks pushed to left and right leaning on eachother where their tops collide.  Fungi nestle in the composting leaves, some a surprise with their thumb-sized red hats. Always I am happy to spot them.   

Always I wanted to live like this in a house in a woods, in a woods behind a meadow; a meadow with cedar trees three stories high and deer beneath the branches spreading low to the ground making a dome fragrant and fresh.  Then along the wood's edge loblolly pines shedding onto their golden carpet.  Cedar leaves small and itchy, loblolly needles soft and long.  Pinecones spread wide. Hawks and ravens and turkey vultures in the meadow and under the dogwood squirrels and chipmunks sharing bounty with the birds. Wild spiny mahonia, barberry, holly and nandina, all with berries blue or red. Lenten roses reseeded across the boundary from a neighbor's garden.  

Nothing showcase here, all is old: the land, the trees, the house and some days me. Even the dog. Nothing quite kept up to snuff.  But what a place of calm and equilibrium, where life can stretch long like a shadow, like the shadows out the window that fill the woods.  

                                       Nina Naomi

 

 

 

TIME PASSES; THAT'S ALL IT KNOWS HOW TO DO

 "Teach us to number our days." Psalm 90:12

You come home and pour tea or coffee and all around is silence.  You might feel lonely. Or you might feel free.  Maybe nothing is more relaxing for you than solitude. 

The weather is cold and the kids are restless.  You might be overwhelmed.  Or you might join in the fray. A snow day becomes a play-day. You laugh more than you have for ages.  Your children love your company; time enough for silence. 

Everyone's days are different.

Yet, time passes; that's all it knows how to do.  Sometimes it's hard to keep the days from blurring.  Retired now, and in the Third-Year-of-Uncertainty, my first waking thought is often to focus on what day it is. We're so used to wondering where the week has gone, or month, or  even year. Such has it always been, but even more so now. Nothing is less forgiving than time.  

Experts say we need something to look forward to.  Maybe it's not that trip to Alaska this year.  Maybe it's learning to make candles or build a fence; or (you fill-in-the-blank).  I'm guessing that each of us has a project to finish, something we liked when we began and couldn't imagine abandoning.  A friend of mine is re-reading the classics.  A relative is clearing a trail to the riverbank.  Another friend is knitting baby blankets for her unborn descendants.  

Some people, children mostly, complain of boredom.  Amazing, given how much they have yet to learn. Perhaps they confuse the need for attention with boredom.   

I don't get bored but I can get depressed; depression is a known by-product of this pandemic. Strange, but nothing alleviates a difficult feeling like giving it its due.  If I say, "I am unhappy," the sadness begins to lessen.  Same with anxiety or fear.  Don't you find this to be true?  It's as if hard feelings want us to acknowledge them.  "Yes, sorrow, I know you're there, I'm not ignoring you."

We went to the funeral of a beloved man this week.  His wife said that she is grateful for the long goodby they had. She shared a picture on her iPad of him resting deeply during his final hours. Time seems to have slowed for her in his last illness. I expect she'll be OK coming home to a new silence. Her faith enfolds her securely and she mirrors it to others.  

Like the low winter sun and the passing of time itself, the pandemic casts a long shadow.   But shadows exist because there is light.  The dark casts no shadow. So we could say, "Yes, shadows, we know you are there.  Thank you for reminding us that where you are, there is also light." 

                                                                  Nina Naomi