Somewhat belatedly, it occurs to me that, if I reorganize my schedule so that I do the play (as a reward) first, I’ll be much less likely to end up so overheated and tired that I don’t feel like playing after the work is done. Yet another example of “we get too soon old and too late smart!” We won’t make that mistake again tomorrow.
less than a month between snow and mow
Photo by J. Harrington
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The better news is that, while knocking down gopher mounds with the drag harrow, I saw a big bumblebee. Then, when I mentioned it to the Better Half, she shared that she’d seen several bumbles while watering out front. Put bumblebee sightings together with the dragonfly or two I saw while doing the mowing today and the efforts to live with nature may turn out to be worth it, although I’m not yet ready to put up with raising goats as an organic solution to the local buckthorn infestation.
Finally, for today, if I fail to scrape up the energy and enthusiasm to go out and play with one or two fly rods and straighten the memory coils from the lines, at least I have several handfuls of really good books to read, including Debra Magpie Earling’s The Lost Journals of Sacajewea. Relaxing and reading isn’t the worst way to spend a beautiful spring Sunday, but it would be better if I remembered the old saying “He who works and runs away, lives to play another day [especially if he’s old and retired]!!”
Innocence
By Linda Hogan
There is nothing more innocentthan the still-unformed creature I find beneath soil,neither of us knowing what it will becomein the abundance of the planet.It makes a living only by remaining stillin its niche.One day it may struggle out of its tenderpearl of blind skinwith a wing or with visionleaving behind the transparent.I cover it again, keep laboring,hands in earth, myself a singular body.Watching things grow,wondering howa cut blade of grass knowshow to turn sharp again at the end.This same growing must be myself,not aware yet of what I will becomein my own fullnessinside this simple flesh.
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