The clouds have just come together to temporarily block the sun on this rather sultry end-of-July-day. Unfortunately, my trip into the kitchen for a cold juice slushy woke the sleeping dogs and now they graze again on the birdseed dropped from the feeders. It feels like the whole house is napping while I sit on the porch, listening to the music floating over from the winery next door. Yesterday it was live music in the 3-5pm set that propelled us into sitting on our garden swing, taking it in with our own fruit of the vine and snacks. Burgers and home-made ice cream from the local establishment wrapped up the day, and one feels summer doesn’t get better than this.
It’s been a time of small things, really. Hummingbirds have been frequently at their feeders, and Friday’s stroll down the road to a friend’s house provided a chance to hear the screech and see the young red tail hawk hunting in the woods. A few houses down I caught a close-up view of a large yellow butterfly harvesting from a nearby thistle. Monarchs, too, have been hovering around other garden plants and all told, this current respite of dry air together with warm sun, blue skies and summer greens, even if they’ve gone brown in the drought, make for languid days meant to be savored.
It’s been enjoyable to walk down the half mile to the local pool nestled in the campy woods and pop into the lovely water. Or to pick up one of the books from the stack (or the one on the phone) and see what happens next in each one. Just about all the “Christmas mail” has been answered, and even if no one responded to my mid-summer notes, that’s OK. People are enjoying the summer, going places and having guests. Even here my youngest’s fiancée just walked in. Perhaps others will stir soon.
Until they do, I wonder at the peace this current, gentle breeze provides now that the sun has rejoined us. So much of the world is trying to navigate big things, but I find myself pondering small things once again: the place of small steps, good friends, the purposes we’re given and those we discover. It is good to try and write or capture in some way parts of what we find. If we try, I believe the offerings give back, often taking us to places we can’t see ahead. Perhaps if we notice them, the small things will help us continue to find our place in the world even while knowing big and wild things loom large. For now, I pause, and as I consider how to end even this small moment, the next tune begins to waft over the fence. Ahh. “The Things We Do for Love.”
from the smallest 