Sunday, March 30, 2014


Mr. Moon just left the yard, the two bluebirds which had been perched on the back of the boat fluttering up to a pecan branch as he began to roll.
They are the busiest, flightiest birds and if they do have a nest they sure aren't spending any time on it. They're too busy pecking at their images in side view mirrors and pooping down the sides of cars.

Alone. I'm alone. Well, I have the chickens and the dogs and the cat. When I was hugging and kissing my husband good-bye, Elvis stepped out of the bushes.

"Take good care of your wives," Mr. Moon said.
"He's going to take care of me," I told him.
"Take good care of our wives," Glen said, and I told him to let me know when he got to the island and that I love him and he told me he loves me and then he pulled out of the driveway, the bluebirds fussing at having been disturbed, Elvis seemingly unperturbed at all while I myself was a bit wistful to see him go.

This is another day of startling clarity and clearness. The new green of the leafing trees is set against the completely blue sky, the bees are all up in the azaleas and wisteria, the squirrels are flicking their tails and doing their high wire acts on branches and fences, light puddles and illuminates everything from birds to camellias to the Whataburger beach balls the boys have left in the back yard. It does not discern, the light. It merely beautifies everything it graces from the sublime to the most prosaic.

I was going to go see The Grand Budapest Hotel today but my date had to reschedule and so I think I shall just work in the garden and yard all day and why I call it work, I do not know because I would pay to be outside in this most beautiful of days and if that pay consists of weeding and chopping and pulling and hauling, all for the better. I have everything in the whole world I could possibly need right here. A refrigerator full of leftovers and staples, cabinets full of coffee and beans and grains. A garden with greens. A hen house where I will probably find at least an egg or two by the end of the day. I have books to listen to and books to read. A brand new Sunday crossword to work if I should want to do that. A line to hang the clothes from outside, the little meditation of taking the wet things from the basket and pinning them carefully to dry in the sun and breeze.

Everything. I have everything. But still, as I said, I am feeing a bit wistful. Not lonely. Just wistful. Last night as we were sitting and watching the baby chicks, laughing at the way they would all rush the feeder and then, at the slightest disturbance of wind or distant hawk call, run back to huddle beneath their shelter, I said to that man I do love so much, "I'm glad that the little things make you so happy too."
And I told him again how much I love him and how I can't imagine living without him and he said, "You won't have to. We're both going to go at the same time."
"I'm not sure how we're going to work that out," I said. "But it sure would be nice."
Let me go first, I added silently. Just let me go first. 

It's so odd how our love has changed and evolved over the years we've spent together. Time and life have worn off so many of the rough edges that used to catch and cut. We are old river rocks now, worn smooth. Some things that used to be of such importance have lost their weight and heaviness while other things which were a part of it always but perhaps not as valued, have turned out to be the very foundation of all that we cherish.
Well, speaking for myself, at least.

It is Sunday morning and my husband is on his way to the coast for a few days of well-deserved enjoyment. I have a perfect day to be alone in this spring light. I see the birds and sky, I hear the stiff-petticoat rustle of leaves and the notes of the wind chimes in the breeze. I taste the coffee in my cup. I smell the tea olive blooming beside the porch. I feel the cool air on my skin and the mixing-in-my-heart-and-belly emotions of great love for my husband and the temporary tiny loss of him as he drives away from me. I am, at this moment, completely overwhelmed with it all and suddenly feel compelled to make an altar before I begin my day of peaceful work.

There. That.

With every cell in this non-religious body, I give thanks.


  1. Being in long-time love my own self, I think this is a beautiful post. River rocks. OMG, that's the best description ever.

  2. Sounds like the perfect morning. I need to make more outside altars this year...though sometimes all my gardens and flowers feel like the altars too.

    Too chilly to hang my wash, though I'm doing laundry today. And making rolls to take to my brothers birthday supper tonight.

    It's all good. Happy Sunday.

  3. Beautiful. All the way from the start down to that picture at the end. Beautiful.

    And now that I know the goings on in Lloyd, my day is a bit more complete :)

  4. Dearest Mary-Thanks for the word salad, it was delicious. I'm in the shambles of my old house, boxes everywhere and I feel lucky today. Holly and I hiked in the beautiful green forest and now I'm happily tired and muddy. A momma is working on a baby today so this Sunday feels holy.

    And the plumbers are at my new house in a giant hole, fixing the sewer line, hoorah!

    XXXX Beth

  5. heartinhand- You know.

    Akannie- And happy Sunday to you.

    Jill- And so I have done my job. I am so glad you come by here and take the time to comment every day. You are a joy in my life.

    Lisa- It is heart-true. Let me. Go first.

    Elizabeth- Thank you.

    Sweet Jo- And to you. Love.

    Beth- I remember those days of a lady treading water. Sometimes I miss them so much. I am so grateful to have you reminding me.

  6. You don't have to be religious to be thankful. I'm glad you see all that you have.

    Your comments about relationships changing are interesting. I think age brings an easiness to love. When you're young it's all so passionate and fierce, even, but as you get older it mellows so much. It's a cliche, but it's true.

  7. Steve Reed- Cliches are usually based on some sort of truth, don't you think?

  8. I understand the feelings, those wistful ones about love and fear of loss. I cannot imagine life without my wife. Yet, I know that people go on...somehow. I just have been laid so low by death that I don't want any more of it. But the longer one lives the more of death there is. Ironic.


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