The Little Stuff (that ain't little at all)
Before I head out to the garden to find where we planted the onions, let me just savor a few things:
A completely raccoon-free night, as evidenced by all the potted plants on the porch and the bird feeders, hummingbird ones included, just as we left them at dusk last night.
Kittens, full of breakfast and now napping somewhere out of my line of sight, litter boxes cleaned, and dishes done.
Wiping my own breakfast crumbs from my mouth with a sweet aqua paisley cloth napkin I made last week, the fabric a gift from Patrick when he landed safely at home after his two-week Sundance odyssey.
The relentlessly cheerful trill of a house wren flitting from one low silver maple branch to another, clearly excited about something and everything.
My feet on the walking paths this morning for the first time in weeks, feeling familiar and brand new in one. Touching the grooved bark of the faithful black walnut who lives just feet off the trail, forehead pressed into its rough skin, I emptied my soul of its gratitude.
Watching as the male orioles let their female counterparts have first dibs at the tiny glass cup filled with raspberry jelly.
Knowing that Patrick will wake up soon and we’ll get to be together, vertically for the daylight hours, peacefully horizontal when the skies are dark and starlit over our heads.
Doing what I could on this morning’s walk to free up and disentangle some young sycamore and ash saplings from the thorny vines chewing their way up their tender limbs. It didn’t look like much but as I walked away, I could have sworn I heard someone exhale in relief.
Needing the thin fleece blanket draped across my lap. In July.
Looking back on a nearly sold-out market day yesterday, looking forward to the prep that awaits me in the kitchen this afternoon, chopping pecans, zesting oranges, measuring out salt and oats.
The troubling dreams from last night, now evaporated with the morning’s dew.
Inspecting the garden’s progress with Patrick, noting significant improvement after last week’s glorious soaking rain quenched the thirst of pretty much everything we planted, including our first go at ground cherries.
The look and feel of jacketless navy-blue linen book cover that will soon become a travel journal after a bit of stitching and some PVA glue.
Having the presence of mind to purchase not one but two sets of popsicle molds two years ago during lockdown, now tucked into the freezer fully employed and filled with a blueberry-nectarine-yogurt smoothie blend.
Feeling not a speck of guilt as the chocolate from a salted caramel melts in my mouth hours before lunch.
The pure joy of well-sharpened pruners doing their work in my hands.
All the grapevines waiting to be cut and twisted into garden art.
Eyes and hearts that read these words. You put my heart in a constant state of thankfulness and savoring.
Friends, this is an exercise I recommend highly. So, be off with you, into your rich and full days, to sit among all that delights you. If it’s a little hard to locate at the moment, buried under weeds of despair and grief, I send you comfort and confidence that you’ll find each other eventually.
(Now…where did we plant those onions?)
