I am sitting on my porch. It isn’t spring perse but a girl can dream. I am wearing my sorel boats, a hoody, flannel pajamas, a down blanket on my lap. I am a sight for the sore eyed (but like actually sore, like the kind of sore when you almost can’t open your eyes…like when you are having an allergy or you get light sensitiviy when you have the flu).
Today the birds are back. The red flair of the wood pecker flashes around the tree, the gray jay is here and teasing my dog, stealing his food. There is some screaching from the cluster of trees near the playhouse. I have trouble identifying it at first but the stellar’s jay shows herself soon enough…navy blue plume flashing in the February sun. The great gray owl was here last night, hunting from the garden fence. One could miss such things if in a rush.
It is a new season but everyone is picking up where they left off. I am putting dog food on my porch railing with the precision of a surgeon, as if this is all I have to do today. Come just a little closer Gray Jay, with your cartoon eyes, let me look at you.
My dog just lumbered out of the cluster of trees we call Fairy Hollow. He is chewing something that looks like a small animal pelvis. I am not asking questions.
I am not asking questions.
I am not trying.
I am not.
This is living Lent. The acknowledgement only of the things we are not. The peace that comes with this stance.
At Easter, we will acknowledge our Power to triumph on death, and to be the hands and feet of a resurected God.
But for now. Join me in the peace that you can rest, the earth is not spinning on your labour.