back at last
Really, I don't care if I'm addicted. It is something I enjoy doing and perhaps as far as addictions go, it is relatively harmless -- unless I'm embarrassing my friends and family by my "public" ruminations! I do try not to do that, although I fondly think that my revelations about my family and friends usually involves only my gratitude for what they mean to me in my life. If I ridicule or embarrass anyone, I hope it's only myself!
I'm sometimes amazed at how silly my life can get and well... maybe others find some relief in hearing about the chaos and hilarity that always keep my life interesting.
But mostly, I walk around in awed bemusement that I'm looking out at a sparkling necklace of ice crystals, for example, flung carelessly along the edge of the snow-icing that curls generously over the roof of the greenhouse, blinding as the reflected sun sparkles off the snowflakes, or thrilled as the shadow of the red-tailed hawk flits across the snow in the yard and the squirrel-robbers of my bird-feeders disappear into the trees.
The stories that unfold go largely untold. A walk becomes a mystery of a myriad clues, tracks in the snow, a depression in the snow tinged with blood, a stray feather, a small fluff of fur. Bark has been stripped by some critter from many of the branches of the crab-apple trees along the drive. I think of Don's theory that male squirrels are marking their territory.
My dog barks and hesitates at the door when I open it for her to go out, not rushing into anything, sniffing cautiously, looking before she steps outside. I'm impatient as I hold the door open for her in the sub-zero weather as I imagine waves of my expensively heated indoor air pouring outdoors in waste. I nudge her butt with my foot. Hurry up. The moon rising over the orchard to the east of the house silently climbs higher into the evening sky.
I don't know why I want to write about it. But there you are. Here's my blog where I try to capture some of it.