Sunday

There is a difference between looking forward to something (say a trip) and being dissatisfied with what is before you as you await something better. I favor the first but shy away from the latter. If you anticipate something with pleasure, it does not mean that you are feeling grumpy about the world you inhabit. I love my days at the farmette with Ed. I love waking up to a peek outside to see if there is snow or if the crocus blooms have proliferated. 

I love that first morning walk to the barn. The smell of damp earth, of hay in the barn -- all potent reminders of a farm life that once prevailed here.

And you know that I love our breakfast. Today I drove over to the bakery that has croissants as good as you'd find anywhere...

... so our breakfast turned instantly special.

And I could continue to run through the day and list all that makes it beautiful. But it's absolutely true that I also love thinking about a next adventure or trip or something that's out of the ordinary. It's an added bonus to a life of deep contentment.

What's to be avoided, I think, is the lusting for improvement over what the day delivers. The dislike of a cloudy rainy day. Of unexpected cool air. The brown tones to an early April day. Wanting a sunny May afternoon instead of what we have today (a relatively warm if cloudy day) unfairly belittles all that's grand about the natural progression of seasonal change. Dormancy and awakening, pauses and restarts. If you stop and think about it -- they are all delightful. Each day brings its surprises and that's just grand, I think.

A good example of taking in a day as it is presented came for us this afternoon, as we walked the Ice Age Trail over in the Brooklyn Wildlife Area. It's a lovely bit of trail -- there's forest, there's prairie, there's even a view over the farmlands stretching into the horizon.

It's not yet showing new growth, but Ed and I almost simultaneously commented how beautiful the forest felt after the cold winter (which is when we last walked here, in the snow).

And the prairie grasses -- such promise of life sprouting still under the soil's surface, but sprouting nonetheless, even as the yellowed grasses of last year continue to sway in waves of gentle beauty before us.

A fabulous walk. Really fabulous.

 

 

 

And in the evening, the young family comes over for dinner once again. It's been a while!

(big cracker)

(big cracker with cheese)

Sandpiper is more active each time he comes here!

The world outside changes, the world inside changes too. What's there not to love!!

This is what peace feels like. How wonderfully lucky to be living in its thicket.

With love.