About ten minutes ago, I returned, soaking wet from a sensational, sun- and rain-drenched hike.
What a beautiful day!
Living in the country means having space.
And quiet.
The right kind of noise.
Noise? Hmmm ... nope.
Sound.
Birds. Streams. Cows. Roosters. Tires on gravel roads.
When I was taking these pictures I could hear thunder up there.
Had Zuzu heard it she would have grabbed my hand and asked knowingly, "Is that thunder?"
Space provides contemplation.
As I hiked today, I was aware of how green everything has become. How lush the grass is and how dense the trees hiding the abandoned Victorian across the street have become ... a stage for the firefly show that is most certainly coming!
I was mesmerized by the parade of clouds above me. Constantly evolving into new shapes, colors, shades. I hope you saw it.
So now, with a large mug of keemun and a handful of smoked almonds, I'm appreciating this place.
This day.
This time.
Wondering what I'm missing out there because I'm sitting in here ...
... drinking in the tea and its perfume ...
... listening the wind's sonata in the rain's tapping and the flag's flapping.
I remember last summer, an early June evening. 3 a.m. Awakened by a thunderstorm, I walked outside on the deck and stood on the picnic table ... feeling the wind on my skin as it changed direction, trying to feel individual raindrops as they hit my face, arms, and legs. Wondering what my "wind shadow" would look like if I could see it. Wondering how many raindrops landed on me in one second. Did they hit anything else on the way down or was I their "first stop?"
Look around today.
Everything is interesting. Everything.
Just look closer.
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