The sun just this instant
rose, flooding my keyboard with orangy-gold light. The dawn breeze lacks the
smallest thread of coolth. The sky is cloudless and tinged with pink along the
rim of the western horizon, where Valley pollutants are building their summer
pleasure domes. Summer heat is finally upon us, apparently.
The minutia of a Big Hill
morning are in progress. Maclovio just mounted an heroic defense against the
invading Mr. Sniffles, the marauding neighbor cat who slinks in at all hours
and devours both cat and dog food. In the garden, bees are already plying the
flowers and sipping from the basin of the fountain. A congress of shrieking
blue jays just routed Mr. Sniffles from a hunting expedition in the shed. On
the rounded, straw-colored hills outside of Columbia, long blue tree shadows
stretch westward like spilled ink. The air is filled with the mingled scents of
jasmine and honeysuckle. Peace reigns.
I’ve just refreshed the water
of the bouquet of pink roses, my father’s favorites, on my desk, and of the
artichoke on its powerful stalk, before the deep heat can leave them waterless.
The emails are answered; the batter for our morning mushroom crepes is already
cooling in the frig; and the deck is swept and its potted plants watered. Soon
I’ll be off for the farmer’s market, basket in hand. Today, I’m looking for
ripe peaches and a bottle of Persian Lime olive oil.
In a world so filled with
troubles, I feel blessed beyond measure to experience such peace and plenty. My
prayer this morning is, as always, that someday the world will allow this
quietude and plentitude to wrap itself around every heart and across every
doorstep. Blessings of the day to all.
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