The light in the backyard is so sweet this morning, as it usually is, and here I sit on my back porch and I note it and it pleases me and the birds come to the feeder and the dogs drowse around me and it is cool again today.
I went to take a picture of the light on the group of plants right outside the back door and as usual, the picture is not nearly as pleasing as the reality.
But sitting there on the back steps I saw something and thought, Oh yes, there they are.
The hurricane lilies are back as I knew they would be after that rain we got from Tropical Storm Lee. They grow straight up out of the sandy dirt and if there is anything on this planet which grows faster than bamboo, it is the hurricane lily. They were not here yesterday but this morning they look like this:
Every year I think I will dig up some of the bulbs when they have finished blooming and plant them somewhere more appropriate than the dirt under the magnolia but I never do. They are almost more of a gift, growing there where nothing else will grow. And although I always expect them, they are still, somehow, a surprise when they show up.
Isn't that just like life?
Well. Good morning. It is Monday. The 9/11 remembrances are over once again. How we do love an anniversary. I think we're wired that way. I think our bodies remember them even if we forget. The way the light slants, the way the air feels- these things bring us back to moments and days of years before. I always think of Cozumel this time of year because we have so often been planning a trip there to celebrate our anniversary at the end of October. I find myself seeing images of the blue and green and purple water, of the old tile that makes up part of the sidewalks, and when I throw garlic into the pot to cook I am taken right back there so strongly, remembering the way the air smells as suppertime approaches, as the sun sets and the restaurants get ready for the dinner crowd.
That is a good anniversary.
But there are so many kinds. And the anniversary of the time the hurricane lilies bloom is a good one too. They, like my memories, like the images I hold inside my heart, spring up almost as if from nowhere. From the sandy dirt of the backyard.
Well, the chickens want out and they day is proceeding and it's time for me to get out there in it. I have noticed a funny thing which is that when I let the chickens out into their run in the mornings, Elvis and his new hens race out to peck at the feeder, to sip water, but the older hens, Dolly and Mable and Miss Bob, remain on their perches, wanting a few more winks of sleep, I suppose. When Owen is here, this disturbs him. He wants them to come down and run out to eat the corn he's scattered. "Fly!" he tells them. And they look at him and ignore him but I sometimes go to their perches and pick them up and hold them and ask if he wants to pet them and he says no, down, so I set them down and their day begins.
The day begins. Over and over and over again. Each the same, each so very different.
And in another and completely unrelated topic, Freddy has released a new film. I remember the day he told me about the concept and I liked it a lot and here he has done it. Every film he makes seems to me to show huge growth and progress. He is not unlike the hurricane lilies in that growth.
Well. Here it is. He loves the comments so if you have one, please offer it.
Good Monday to you all.