Maggie and I walked to the gate early this morning to fetch the Sunday paper. Whoa. How did it get so beautiful again? The bright rising sun and a heavy dew combined to sparkle up the woods. Everywhere I turned there were soft cottony white webs, a spider’s bed and breakfast. Wild blueberry branches are already turning reddish purple, their tip ends swelling.
The hurricane rearranged my own personal walking woods, and I’ve been damn put out about it. That’s the blind, self-seeking, pride-filled truth of it. My meditation walks became distracted ramblings which I had begun to eschew for the bland indoor treadmill.
But this morning, it’s as though some fog of depression or grief had lifted, bouyed by nature’s insistence on reasserting itself.
I’m eager to get out there tomorrow morning and start pulling dead branches out of the stream to help restore the natural flow and eliminate the stagnant, mosquito-breeding pools that have developed.
The joy is back.
Beam me up!