The woods and swamps are so beautiful right now, filled with water and the palmettos and bright green new ferns coming out. The soft moss, the fungus growing on downed trees, the glossy green of the magnolias which keep their leaves all winter long. The sky is cloudless, the air is cool. I saw some downed branches and a great large one had fallen in the yard of a trailer where I pass, knocking the mailbox from the post.
In another trailer yard, I saw a sign for Trump and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, just as I felt this morning when I read George Will's latest column in the paper which blames Obama for Trump's takeover of the Republican party.
Well, yes, if by saying that it's his fault because people have finally found a hero in a man who is an avowed racist, like they are.
I would rather think of the bobcat, small and tidy, silent and shy, living in the woods by the little pond which I pass, sleeping under the palmettos which grow under the pines.
Or this girl.
Clothes on the line, birds chittering at the feeder, the finches turning gold as spring approaches. Trees full of robins, dappled shade, a squirrel sitting up on the edge of a clay pot, holding his little hands clasped together in front of his white chest. A brilliantly-colored redheaded woodpecker, scooping air with his wings to go from tree to feeder, scattering the other birds. The gray and white cat coming onto the porch for leg-weaving and kibble crunching.
There is still a good breeze and the magnolia shakes its rusty leaves and the towels on the line billow and relax. An old white cotton slip of mine dances as if it were a sail.
Every day I wake up and think of all the things I should do with my life. Go take yoga in town, do volunteer work with...someone...perhaps learn to paint or join a club. A club! They have them for everything! Gardening and bird watching and books and cat fanciers!
Oh dear. No.
It's too much to even think about.
And I feel guilty for making my world so very small.
But on a day like today with all of this before me, around me, surrounding me, right here for me to see and hear and listen to if I simply remain still and open, I can't imagine why I would want to do any of those things.
Well, the volunteering...
My mother was one of the biggest volunteers in the universe. Her good-deed doing was legendary. And I do think her heart was in the right place with it. And she loved her bridge club. Adored it. Until she couldn't follow the game any more and what a heartbreak for her that was. She was a sociable woman, a joiner, a do-er.
Me? Ah well, not cut from the same cloth.
But I have a silver-plated platter engraved with thanks to her on it from some club she belonged to. It's still in the original box. And what do you do with that?
Well. I've gone from a bobcat in the woods to my mother. Not a long journey in my mind, but like with the Trump thing, I'd rather think of this day, perfect in the very whole life of it.
And I am not alone in it. Not one bit.
One of my companions, Jack The Cat, who no longer fears crossing the threshold into the house one bit and who actually jumped into the lap of Mr. Moon this morning. And there is the orange cat and the rooster and the hens and we keep each other fine company, no need for small talk, none at all.
As small as my life is, I am not sure I could handle it if it were any bigger.