Monday - 213th

 It's not clear to me how long I can continue my 10,000 steps a day goal, but I do think that if I fail one day, then I'll slack off and ignore the count thereafter. In other words, I have this resolve: let's keep this thing going no matter what! I've been racking up the steps since October 1st. Let me not stop now.

I need this little pep talk, because the weather is turning normal. Meaning it's colder, wetter, more like you'd expect for mid-October.

Yes, I do my morning farmette walk. And yes, it's beautiful!

 

(Java, our oldest girl...)

 

 A hidden sheep shed...

 

 Following the path to the new orchard...

But it doesn't add up on the FidBit. And then the rains come. And so I turn on that dreadful monster of a machine -- the treadmill -- and force myself to endure the boredom of a half hour on it, just to give that boost that I need to reach my hefty 10,000 goal.

After breakfast, of course. (There's a cat in his arms.)

In other news -- well, I've been meaning to post a poem I like, but my late night Ocean writing has meant that I avoid straying into side issues like poems, songs and other musings that fill my head when it's not spinning with thoughts on the health and welfare of my beloveds, my friends and everyone else on this planet, animals included. You know how that goes: when you start making cuts, the arts are the first to go. 

But today, with the colder air outside and my walking goals nicely behind me, I can bring up poetry.

I know not everyone is a fan. But hear me out on this one. And you should, because I am about to write out the words of this year's Nobel literature laureate, Louise Glück. If you haven't looked at her work, now's your chance to sample something. 

I'm thinking of a poem of hers called "Snowdrops." I'll write it out for you, without explanation, okay?

 Here it is:

Snowdrops

Do you know what I was, how I lived?  You know
what despair is; then
winter should have meaning for you.

I did not expect to survive,
earth suppressing me. I didn't expect
to waken again, to feel
in damp earth my body
able to respond again, remembering
after so long how to open again
in the cold light
of earliest spring--

afraid, yes, but among you again
crying yes risk joy

in the raw wind of the new world.

 

I'll end with a photo from my morning walk. Just because.