From my upstairs porch rocker, I watch the world awaken.
Seemingly endless rain has rendered the yard muddy, the air sodden. A small frog, unfazed by such occurrences, has taken up residence in our pond, I see. Last year’s great bullfrogs have moved on, or are perhaps traveling.
Their small successor sits quietly. The goldfish dance and weave beneath lily pads, between rocks and around the pots of the pond peripherals. From his dry rock perch, the young frog patiently and quietly surveys his world.
A train chugs by in the background, supplying the bass line to midlevel tones: the waterfall’s spilling. Soprano notes chime in— chirping birds. They are singing their way into the bounty of summer.
I close my eyes, and breathe the tranquility of this day’s beginning. With nowhere to be, I choose not to do. The week had been filled to overflowing.
It is not often that I flag after lots of fun, but in this particular timeframe, things had been different. Though I had happily anticipated every occasion when they were put on the calendar, what we could not have known was that several of my nagging sports injuries would require tending to. Recuperation, it turns out, can be quite draining. Not to be outdone, the dowager kitty joined the dog in needing procedures. Rehabilitation became a family affair.
Recoveries, though, are on the horizon. Life is returning to normal. Relenting is finally allowed.
I have a book to finish, a story I have been struggling to read, so graphic was the tale. There are plants to pot, and pets to gently brush. These simple occupations, and the quiet of a house temporarily occupied by only me, will be enough for these three days.
Settling mind and spirit in retreat, I meditate on the present, and turn slowly inward.
The breeze blows gently. Earth spins, though we are unaware.
Billions of stories play on. Here, for now: Only peace. (c)