The Sun Has Returned

I realize, of course, that the rising of the sun of a morning is not an unusual occurrence. What I want to convey, though, is how it feels here, in this little canyon, in the aftermath of days of rain, to see and feel those first tiny tendrils of sunshine. Sitting here at my computer, I watched individual leaves and fronds in my pepper tree change color from a muted unawakened green to a dazzling wide-awake splash of chartreuse, with bright pink clusters of pepper corns jumping for joy among them.







And what is that feeling of being engulfed in the Earth's moisture simply by stepping outside my door? The hills are saturated and, no doubt, feeling the same thing I'm feeling about the whole thing.



My flock (sorry, but I just can't help feeling proprietary) of magpies swooped in to finish off Princess' rejected cat food, greedily grabbing several pieces before flying off to wherever they stash their loot. They are so elegantly attired and so crude in their actions that I just enjoy the ambiguity . . . and their beauty, of course.



I watched the flatbed pickup carrying a huge roll of hay as it headed up the canyon earlier this morning. The cows, a dozen or so black angus, some with calves, heard the truck coming and began to moo in anticipation. The tiny green grass shoots are not yet sufficient to sustain those lumbering bodies, but it won't be long. And then rancher Reyes will bring back his beautiful multi-colored cows to pasture around my little house, bringing movement and beauty to grace my days. I'll watch the morning's revelation of calves born in the nighttime. Can anything possibly lift the spirits better than that?



So, everything is still utterly soaked, but road repairs have already made travel possible. Even when the creek doesn't flood--as it hasn't in this series of storms--cascades of water and mud cut through the dirt road in places. From what I learned, until this morning's repairs even my pickup would not have crossed the cuts in the road. Now, all is well when I go to town to return my overdue videos, most of which I haven't yet watched. Time to cut back on the number I check out.




Lucy's parents return home today. She will be overjoyed, and I have to adjust to being without her. I love knowing she's sleeping in my little house. I'll miss her . . . though I can visit often since they are only a short walk away. One day soon, I'll tell you about Guinevere. Not today, though. (smile) Enough for today.