A day set aside for all I ever want to do anyway! Practice gratitude.
All the weeds have died or been pulled, all the seed heads saved and stored. Little velvet sage-colored plants come into their own in the early winter garden. Penstemon palmeri, lambs’ ears, blue fescue, lavendar, silver-leaf horehound, partridge feather all sport soft, blue-green foliage. Against the pink gravel path or brick edging or flagstones, against the deep brown soil, the fallen leaves of autumn, this display soothes the soul.
When I look around at all I have and haven’t done, I can weigh in fairness the undone less: I’ve tipped the balance, done more in this yard than I haven’t. This is the ultimate thing I give thanks for, change: nothing stays the same. Nor would I want it to; too often things feel bad enough without getting stuck there, in the musical chairs of time. Whose spinning wheel stops when in what state of flux?
Waiting for the signal sound of a single bee approaching from the south. The bees still drink water in the curly rushes in the pond, one bee at a time, five minutes apart. My gratitude knows no bounds. I am so grateful for this gorgeous holiday morning, for the time to look around, to sit and wait for a single bee; for the ability to work and play with a camera, for eyes to see and ears to hear the flutter of finches in trees overhead. I give thanks for my small place in this ferocious world, for all I love and for all who love me. It is all I can do.