Springing in

Water dragon.

A Purification
by Wendell Berry

At start of spring I open a trench
in the ground. I put into it
the winter’s accumulation of paper,
pages I do not want to read
again, useless words, fragments,
errors. And I put into it
the contents of the outhouse:
light of the sun, growth of the ground,
finished with one of their journeys.
To the sky, to the wind, then,
and to the faithful trees, I confess
my sins: that I have not been happy
enough, considering my good luck;
have listened to too much noise;
have been inattentive to wonders;
have lusted after praise.
And then upon the gathered refuse
of mind and body, I close the trench,
folding shut again the dark,
the deathless earth. Beneath that seal
the old escapes into the new.

Extreme social distancing.

How are you doing today?  I hope all is well with you and your loved ones.  M and I are still hanging out here at the ranch with Izzy and Bella (the cats).  It feels like the weekend to me, probably because M is home.  I think it confuses the cats somewhat, too, who are not expecting him to be here all the time.  Bella, who worships M, is happy to have him so close all day long.  Izzy, who is more OCD than I am, is freaked by any change in schedule or circumstances, but she’ll get over it quickly enough by sleeping the usual 18 hours (maybe not that long but it sure seems that way).

A throwback Thursday: When Izzy and Bella were young. (2007)

We woke up to clouds this morning.  It rained sometime overnight.  I didn’t hear the rain which is highly unusual.  I’m a fairly light sleeper.  I think motherhood made me that way and, even though I am long past the days of needing to listen for my children in the wee hours of the night, the listening has still been with me in some form.  In these strange times, good sleep is returning to me.  Maybe it’s my body’s way of keeping me safe and healthy during a time when it’s most needed.  Whatever the reason, I am grateful for it.

Buds on the dappled willow tree.

Even with the good sleep, I’m feeling unsettled.  Restless.  It’s a rebelliousness of sorts.  I jokingly tell people that I have been training for this my entire life, especially the physical isolation.  I spend a lot of time on my own out here in the Middle of Nowhere.  I’m used to it.  Or so I thought.  Now that we are not supposed to be out and about among people, I suddenly want to be out and about among people.  There are ways to do that and maintain physical distance.  Going to the Point, for instance.  Or going out to Assateague.

Rays of sunshine in the grass.

I noticed, too, that I’m not doing All The Right Things (as I generally think of them).  A day or two before last week’s colonoscopy, when I was on clear liquids only, I took time off, thinking I’d start up the morning routine (exercise, meditation, yoga, etc.) after the procedure.  I didn’t.  All The Right Things are truly all the things I should be doing to help with feeling unsettled.  I gave up challenges a little while back, but I’m thinking it might be time for one.  A challenge to meditate every day for 40 days.  Or to do my yoga practice every day for 40 days.  Or something of the sort.  Would anyone like to join me in something of that nature?  Let me know in the comments.

Speaking of yoga, the Yoga Darsana class has been on spring break for a week or two.  It’s possible the break will run longer.  The teacher has been in Turkey.  Hopefully she will be able to return tomorrow as planned and classes will resume on Monday.  It will be good to return to both the studying and the little community we’ve formed.  Mostly, I wish her safe travels.  The classes can wait if need be.  (It’s all online, by the way.)

Daylilies popping up. The peonies are, too.

My stylist (hairdresser — what is the term these days?) called yesterday.  They’re closing the shop until the end of the month.  I was scheduled for a haircut next week.  I offered to pay for the appointment because I was going to cancel it anyhow, but she said no, she’ll be fine.  I’ll check on her again in a week or two, depending on what our government decides to do in terms of bailing out the people who need it most.  This is going to be a really difficult time for small businesses and those who work in small businesses.  Let’s do everything we can to help them out, please.

Opening to the light and to spring.

A clean-up at the Point has been cancelled along with some other events.  Our little Keep America Beautiful affiliate has plans for April.  I’m not sure what will happen.  The clean-up was one of the things we intended to participate in.  Keep America Beautiful has cancelled their Great American Clean-Up.  That doesn’t mean we can’t still get out there and pick up litter.  We just have to do so safely (which is the case no matter what else is happening in the world!).  M and I pick up on the road that runs by our home, and we do the same when we go out to the Point.

Flowering.

I reckon that’s more than enough for me today.  Let’s meet out at the Point for sunset, with the appropriate distancing, of course.  Sunset is scheduled for 7:15 PM.  It’s warm today, with a high of 70°F expected.  A light jacket will probably suffice.

Be good, be kind, be love.  And please, stay safe and well.  ♥♥♥

Sunset on the beach at the Point.

A few of the 10,000 reasons to be happy:  1,266)  Watching the clouds clear out this afternoon and the sunlight sparkling on the water.  1,267)  Daffodils.  1,268)  Herbal teas.  There is something soothing about them.  1,269)  Pasta for lunch.  Comfort food in general.  1,270)  The purring of cats.  There is something soothing about that, too.

Peaceful evening.