February 20, 2007
The thawing of the snow began in earnest yesterday, and the sounds of Sanctuary included those of water flowing swiftly in the creeks toward the wetland lake near which Tacama, the huge cottonwood tree stands. This morning Alphie and I walked just as the sun came over the horizon, and I continued through the forest to stand at the top of the hill where the fields begin. From there I can see a good distance eastward, to the south and west into town. It is a good place to say the prayer of thanksgiving for another day; the cloud patterns and wind directions foretell how the day may go forward and I can tell how much humidity is in the air by the volume of sound made by the coal trains that pass through the county some distance to the south of us. As I continue on the path I find myself back in years walking to school in spring and stepping on the thin ice coatings on the numerous little ponds left standing because the earth is still frozen. There is a clear, crystal layer over the water that shatters and cracks in the most satisfying fashion, and I remember hurrying to get to the ponds before my brothers did. This morning, there was no competition, so I had all of them to myself. Naturally, Alphie, bare footed, avoided the experience.
Our near yard is the bird Mecca of the forty acres because of the numerous bird feeding stations I have placed all around, so when I return toward the house, the bird sounds increase in variety and volume, and the flying about from plum bushes to trays to cedars is constant. Perhaps that is why the big hawk comes and sits on the arbor. It doesn’t eat any of the seeds, and the smaller birds do not appear to fear it – I think of a large and lonely misfit that comes and sits in a corner at the café just to be around a little action. Later on in the season, when the eggs are hatching, these hawks will never fly anywhere without a cadre of squawking jays and blackbirds chasing them.
Tuesdays I go to the Specialty Clinic for the weekly blood draw, and as I have likely mentioned, I am greeted as a “regular” and sent to my favorite room to await the needle wielding lab technician of the day. Today’s readings were moving downward again, but not enough to be alarming. Sometimes I feel tired and uneasy but I remind myself that there are literally thousands of other people who are feeling less than at their desired state of health. Charles appears to be the exception. . . he always reports that he has slept beautifully, and that all is well and that he has much to do with the new day. It makes for a good balance, but there are times. . . .
PS: The top photo is of our neighbor’s pond at sunrise.