Let the chickens into the coop. Feed the cats. Notice the drops of rainwater shining like Christmas ornaments in the morning light, suspended on the cherry laurel leaves. Read a blog post which is so stunning in its energy, its celebration of life that it throws me into a deeper level of self-loathing, self-doubt than the one I'm currently trying to hang on to, feel my fingernails start to slip as I descend.
Drink some smoothie, notice this:
The cat notices them too.
Check the progress of this.
The first firespike bloom.
Mushrooms that look as if they are composed of dog shit and saw dust. Anybody know what they are? I won't be eating those.
Pull myself together. Go for a walk. See this.
Color and little glories.
Sweat and breathe and have to turn back from part of the path as it has become a lake and the grass is too thick and probably tick-ridden to walk through. Bless the rain as it blesses us. Walk past the shady glen beside the road which every time I pass it, EVERY TIME, sends something through me- a message of magic. Ferns and fallen trees, palmettos and thick, thick pads of leaves, light streaming down, across, it is a sacred place. I can feel the bones of ancient people there, even more ancient animals, maybe Spaniards too. All part of the mulch of it, the food of it, the feel and density and color and cathedral-likeness of it. Know I do this for my soul more than for my body.
Go by the post office. An old man with long white hair and two canes is yelling at the guy behind the window but it's only because he's so deaf he has to shout to hear himself. He is smiling. I hold the door open for him, he shouts, "THANK YOU!" He goes to his old van, chunks fallen off of it, the motor running like an asthmatic beast, pulled so close to the door that it's a little hard to get past it and inside.
Get ready for the boys. I still have a place on this earth. Remember that. Every day is not going to be the best day but every day has its shining moments.
Finally. Watch this.
About almost everything.