A step in the right direction

This morning the birdbath was covered with skim ice and the deck with frost. We had covered or brought into the house the plants around the front porch. The lowest temperature we noticed was 34℉, so obviously we missed something since water doesn't freeze at that temperature.

Now, mid-afternoon, it's a cozy 59℉ and the sun is shining. We've done a couple of hours worth of outside chores and plan to take the rest of the day off and enjoy a late Summer -- early Autumn interlude. The disruption of "normal" routines created by COVID-19 is providing both an opportunity and the necessity to learn to pace myself, remembering the ancient saying "Chapter 64 of the Dao De Jing ascribed to Laozi":

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step

just put one foot in front  of the  other...

Photo by J. Harrington

Speaking of a thousand mile journey, while in the midst of our chores today we saw what we think was a monarch butterfly. Their journey is reported to be spread over several generations. We're still hoping to see a hummingbird at one of the feeders today. Any time now the females and juveniles will be off on their journeys to wintering grounds. I wonder how many wingbeats it takes a hummingbird to travel a thousand miles.

As we've spent more time this week doing actual work in the real world, and less time Tweeting and reading Tweets on social media, we've noticed that our tendency to get agitated by things over which we have no control is diminished. I think it's sort of like "if a  tree falls in the forest, and there's no one there to hear it, does it make a noise?" If a Tweet shows up in my time line and I'm not there to read it, does it really exist?

Plain Advice

Jeff Gundy

Don’t be foolish. No, be foolish.
Each of these trees was once a seed.

Look down the road till it’s all mist and fumes:
Of course your journey is impossible.

It’s stupidly hot for September and yet here’s
an eddy, a gust, something to stir you

as the high leaves of the walnut are stirred,
as fine droplets touch you, touch the table

and the deck, no explanation, no design.
And beauty is like God, mystery

in plain sight, silent, hesitating
in leaves and the shadows of leaves,

in the carved fish painted and nailed
to the railing, in skeins of cloud

and searching fly and pale blue
scrim of sky and seas of emptiness

and dazzle, fusion and spin,
fire and oblivion and all that lies

on the other side of oblivion.

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